


Wonderland

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Series: Domestic Bliss [1]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: AU, Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Children, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Canon Trans Character, Come Eating, Come Shot, Come Swallowing, Comfort Sex, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Elementary School, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Fluff without Plot, Friendship, Guilt, Heat Stroke, Hugs, Ice Cream Parlors, Idiots in Love, Lap Sex, Love, M/M, Male Friendship, Married Life, Meeting, Mentions of past abuse, Minor Character Death, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Shot, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past, Past Relationship(s), Physical Abuse, Pining, Post-Prison, Prison, Protectiveness, Quickies, Raising a family, Reading, Reading Aloud, Reunions, Rutting, Scent Kink, Scents & Smells, School Principal, Secrets, Series, Sexual Attraction, Short & Sweet, Snakes, Talking to children, Temptation, Topping from the Bottom, Truth, Unconditional Love, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, Visitors, prison flashbacks, snake bites, southern manners, unexpected gifts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:48:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 32,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: Juice is a rat, a traitor, and a liar. Jax Teller and most of the club want him dead. Once on the inside, however, someone pays Ron Tullynot to kill the boy- but to protect him.Juice becomes the AB shot caller's cellmate, but things for the ex-MC member don't go as expected. When he discovers he's a father to a young boy, everything changes.  Juice and his son are reunited after he gets out of Stockton- but by then Juice isn't alone. He's married to Tully, the club knows he survived, and at least a few of the members will be interested in reaching out.
Relationships: Juice Ortiz & Chibs Telford, Juice Ortiz/Carla "Candy" Ortiz, Juice Ortiz/Chibs Telford, Juice Ortiz/Ron Tully, Ron Tully & Juice Ortiz, Tig Trager/Venus Van Dam
Series: Domestic Bliss [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640017
Comments: 402
Kudos: 154





	1. Memory's Mystic Band

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnlyOneWoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneWoman/gifts), [GirlWhoLovesMonsters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlWhoLovesMonsters/gifts).



> Note: This is a multi-chapter chronicle of Juice's life, beginning with the domestic to past flashbacks. It’s an AU take on a non-rape version of Ron and Juice’s relationship, though a lot of the content is rooted in canon. Various characters from the series appear in these chapters including Chibs, Tig, Venus, and others. What was born as a totally self-indulgent one shot is... joke’s on me - now a guilty pleasure.  
> I hope you give it a chance and if you do, that you enjoy it.

The curtain-framed windows slowly let in the growing dawn. A sky edged with pink and orange sets the walls ablaze as the sun peeks from above the horizon.  
Juice watches the colors spread like two arms, willing a long-awaited embrace.  
  
Tully yawns from his perch on the sofa, covering his mouth with the back of his inked hand. He half-stretches before returning his attention to the book balanced on the crook of his arm and the dark head on his lap.   
Diego’s right leg is wrapped around his left in a sort of boneless abandon. He sips on his milk, a guileless gaze studying his elder. The face looking up at Tully is quietly reverent.  
What sensational beauty, he muses. He and Juice could really be twins. The boy’s features are sharp and confident like his father’s, without losing the delicate dimension of sensitivity he got from his mother.  
He’s going to be a heartbreaker, Ron decides.  
  
Jesus... fatherhood… married life. It’s been something to wrap their heads around for sure. While in Stockton, Juice discovered that his ex was pregnant. This brief relationship he had with Sarah, a girl he met through his weed shops, would turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Salvation delivered to him in the form of a mini-me.   
  
Finding out about Diego gave Juice a reason to behave. He stopped getting into fights, stopped trying to be the badass on the yard (also because it wasn’t a credible shade on him). Becoming a role model for someone brought out in him the desire to get out as soon as possible, to start his life with Ron and his boy.  
Initially, he assumed he’d only get visits. But a month before getting paroled, Sarah announced she’d be moving out of state. She’d landed a great job in Vegas and decided full-time motherhood would only hold her back.  
  
There was no doubt then in Juice’s mind. He wanted to be a father to his son, no way he was going to abandon him to some foster home. Juice wouldn't allow for that. He wasn't going to submit Diego to what he had to go through growing up fatherless.   
It wasn’t easy to get custody at first. The concerns were that he was an ex-con, ex-MC member… living with another man, (ex-AB to boot), who harbored an even darker past. But once Sarah signed over full custody, the fact that Juice was the biological father meant more than anything else. The state had little to argue after all his random piss tests kept coming back clean. He proved he could not only afford a good lawyer, but pooling his and Ron’s money, they bought land and a house. A house in the country with plenty of fresh air, far from prying eyes.  
Diego didn’t want for anything, would never if they could help it. (Though they did agree to never spoil him).  
  
So Ron recites the book, almost by memory now, but his mind travels elsewhere. It crosses several counties, back to barbed wire and the smell of piss and sweat.  
When Ron thinks back to where they came from- the tiny cell in D block full of OG motherfuckers, just waiting for the right time to slit your throat…  
He can’t believe he’s here. Alive. Well. Loved.  
His husband is one room away, (his HUSBAND!) and there’s a tiny hand clasping his forearm. He shuts his eyes a moment and focuses there. The feel of its skin isn’t rough. It doesn’t bear swastika tattoos or cigarette burns.  
No. It’s smooth and lit with the bloom of youth.  
  
Ron sighs. Winks. Eyes that might as well be two large black truffles blink back, then they crinkle in amusement.  
Ron resists the urge to press his lips to the center of his son’s forehead, instead he swipes away the stray wisps from his brow. The scent of strawberries and fabric softener wafts up to his nose.  
So this is what happiness smells like?  
_  
  
There isn’t much noise at this hour. Just birds chirping, shallow breathing, and the quiet rustle of pages.  
Juice can hear them, the words half-whispered. Tully pronounces them slowly and politely, as if he’s taking his time to warm up his voice. The prose floats dreamily in the morning air.  
  
Peering over the door frame, Juice alters the position of his head slightly so he can observe. He momentarily forgets the cold of the metal knife pressed into his palm, focusing instead on the warmth of the scene before him.  
A father reading to his son. He’ll never get sick of seeing this.  
  
Tully catches his love’s liquid gaze and drags the corners of his mouth into a slow, steady smile of bliss.  
“So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland-“ he continues.  
  
We are in Wonderland, Juice thinks. Our own beautiful version of Wonderland. Juice blows Ron a kiss, and when the other mouths ‘I love you,’ his heart swells as if risen along with the dawn. Something inflates in his chest and risks choking off air.  
  
Clearing the emotion from his throat, he returns to his duties with a satisfied sigh. He places the knife on the cutting board, blade-in and perfectly perpendicular to its edge.  
Discarding the crusts into the bin, Juice immediately wipes the crumbs into a tea towel and shakes the contents out into the trash.  
A Spiderman lunchbox snaps open and the lid falls gently ajar. Juice wraps the ham sandwich triangles into cellophane, makes sure there are seven apple wedges in the baggie, and checks one more time that Diego’s juice bottle is properly capped.  
The organization of his son’s lunch is ritualistic.  
  
The soft ticking of the kitchen clock reminds him to check the time. His eyes dart up, scanning the bulletin board and all its colorful, tacked pictures as he does so. Diego has drawn so many lately that they’re not sure what to do with all of them.  
  
7 am. It’s still early, Juice thinks, but Diego isn’t one to be rushed. They better get a move on in getting him ready. The bus will pass by in 25 minutes.  
  
Alice is nearly out of Wonderland, and that’s Juice’s cue to grab Diego’s clothes.   
“Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood: and how she would gather about her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago: and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days. THE END.”  
  
Diego sits up, still a quarter of his milk left sloshing around in his cup.  
“Is that the end, Papa?” he asks forlorn.  
Tully bends his head, ruffling the boy’s hair. “You know that’s the end. You’ve heard this one a dozen times.”  
Long fingers tickle under Diego’s arms and the boy giggles wildly, flailing his arms.  
  
“Diego, time to get dressed! The bus will be here soon!” Juice’s voice draws closer and closer and by the time he says ‘soon’ he’s already back in the living room, two fists carrying children’s clothing.  
  
Diego’s red in the face, belly-laughing.  
“Papì, don’t get him riled up before school,” Juice scolds.  
“I’m not doing anything!” Tully throws up his hands and frowns. It isn’t until Juice kisses his cheek, coaxing another smile out of him, that his shoulders relax.  
“Sorry, papì. You just know how hard it is to keep him calm.”  
  
“Eww!” Diego screams.  
“Eww?! Don’t you like it when daddies kiss?” Tully asks, his enormous arms gathering Diego tightly against his chest.  
It’s a mess of espresso-colored locks as their son shakes his head.  
  
“I don’t like it when ANYONE kisses!” he exclaims. “Lea Montello is always trying to kiss me on the playground!”  
“SHE IS?!” Juice pulls the shirt over his head and shimmies him into his pants.  
“One day you might not mind that. Now get your shoes on. I’ve already made your lunch. Remember- no trading for peanut butter or candy bars, you’re allergic.”  
“Yes, Daddy.”  
  
A scan of his watch says 7:23. Where the hell did the time go?!  
“Time to go to get the bus, little guy. We’re gonna grab your jacket and backpack and I’ll walk you down the lane.”  
“I want Papa to take me,” Diego begs, jumping up and down in place.   
  
Smirking, Juice crosses his arms over his muscled chest, just the slightest bit of his skulls showing above his t-shirt.  
The flex of his bicep lights up Ron’s gaze. It lingers there, and Juice notices.  
It *has* been a couple days since they had sex. Ron works from home and Juice doesn’t have to pass by his stores until the afternoon. What if they??  
  
The sudden, arresting smile conveys exactly what Juice wants Ron to pick up on.  
He points to Tully. “He wants you to take him, papì.”  
Juice is rewarded with a long, slow grin. “Of course I’ll take him.”  
  
There’s a long syrupy pause. Diego’s jacket gets zipped up and his backpack handed over, all the while the men never break, sharing a knowing look.  
Ron leans in, brushing his lips lightly against Juice’s. His voice sinks to a whisper.  
“I better find you naked in bed when I get back, sweetheart. Now who’s got who riled up?”  
  
Sucking in his lip, Juice’s eyes narrow. Something tightens in his chest… and in his pants.  
“Have a good day at school, Diego. Daddy loves you.”  
“I love you, too, Daddy!” His son waves enthusiastically as he and Ron cross the distance of the long driveway leading down to the county road.  
Diego’s dragging Ron by the hand, making the gravel fly under their feet.  
  
“Hurry back, papì!”  
Ron half turns, that understanding, secret fire blazing in his stare.  
“For the first time in my life I might just run.”  
  
_  
  
Ron swallows Juice’s come, hard. There’s a lot of it… thick and slightly sweet. Juice has been eating pineapple again, he assumes.  
It takes a couple swallows to get it all, which makes his Adam’s apple bob. Then there’s one surprising last spurt, and it does Juice in. He would scream if he could draw breath.  
Chest heaving, his arms drop, weak from gripping Ron’s head. It leaves his lover’s black hair tousled.  
  
Tully lifts his chin, boldly meeting Juice's gaze with half-lidded eyes. He lets a little jizz dribble from his bruised lips and onto his stubbly chin.  
“Lick it off, baby… “  
  
“Jesus Christ… “ How can they want each other so much?! A glaze comes down over Juice’s swimming eyes. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Ron.”  
  
Juice leans over and tilts his head, licks it up obscenely. Their mouths meet, open to their tastes mingling. The throbbing in Tully’s groin is unbearable, but he had such an urge to suck Juice off he devoured him as soon as he got back. Now that that thirst has been sated…  
  
Ron’s cock is teasing Juice, who’s straddling him. The crown circles his ribbed opening, making the boy emit squeaky noises.  
Ron hunches slightly, resting his powerful arms on his thighs.  
“Gonna ride me, baby?”  
Juice nods slowly in agreement, nudging his tongue against Ron’s plum lips. One hand steals back, cold drops of lube dripping down the crack of his ass. He lets the bottle drop with a soft plop onto the carpet.  
  
“Put it in me, papì. _Raw me_.”  
Ron doesn’t hesitate, because he no longer can. He crushes Juice to him, his hole staved a breath later by his bare, bleeding cock.  
“Oh fuck… fuck… “  
  
The muscles of his legs and belly flex rhythmically as Juice bucks on top of him. Ron touches him everywhere, delirious with ecstasy. He runs his nails along his back, up his neck. Licks over the two skulls and nuzzles into the crook of his shoulder when he needs to ground himself.  
Where Ron’s hot mouth can’t reach he allows his fingers to roam.  
  
Juice’s body hasn’t been a mystery to him for a long time. He knows just what to do.   
“Papì… you feel so good… “  
The sear, the sensation of fullness… Juice bites into Ron’s lower lip with enough canine to set in motion the climb to his release.  
  
A snap of hips.  
A hand slid across sex at the right time.  
One last savage plunge.  
  
“Yes papì YES!” The room fills with a piercing scream.  
As soon as he feels the splash of spunk on his abdomen and the clench of Juice’s second orgasm, Ron lets go. He explodes inside his lover with a purring moan rumbling his chest.  
  
Riding out the last waves, Juice grinds sensuously on top of him. As they kiss passionately, Ron cupping Juice’s face… they cross their bridge of sighs together.   
  



	2. Webs and Woes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice has been hiding something from Tully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to make this a series of sorts. Shorter chapters so I can attempt to update more often.  
> Enjoy the fluff (and smut!) my lovelies!

The stars slowly die away in the brightening light. The earth, drowsing, drags the sun from night into day. Ron watches the horizon color an intense orange crush and lets out a deep, nostalgic sigh. He catches himself glancing uneasily over his shoulder.  
Juice is still a silhouette under the covers, one foot sticking out past the edge of the bed. Ron stands on uneasy legs, fingers curled around the windowsill. He’s naked except for his pajama bottoms, inked skin prickling slightly.  
It’s not from the crispness of the spring air that he trembles so, rather it’s more last night’s conversation and the anxiety it brought with it.  
It’s got him all twisted up.  
_  
  
Juice was acting funny from the moment he returned home. His gaze, normally lit from within, was shadowed.  
Tully said nothing, because sometimes Juice got like this. The man was born dressed in shifting metaphors of the moon. (Not for nothing “lunatic” derived from lunaticus, meaning “of the moon.” Though Juice was far from crazy, he was prone to being moody as fuck).  
So it wasn’t until Tully settled on the couch with Diego in tow, a ragged copy of “Charlotte’s Web” under his arm, that Juice gathered up his courage.  
  
“Papì? Can I talk to you a minute?” His voice was sharper than intended. He heard it immediately, adjusting with a deep breath. Steadying his nerves wasn’t as easy as it seemed.  
  
Tully ruffled Diego’s hair as he rose, telling his son to open the page to the bookmark, that he’d be right back.  
Throughout dinner Juice’s expression was tight with strain, and now it was no different. When Ron noticed that he had rearranged the spice rack by size AND color… he knew something was up.  
Juice stepped towards him, his phone in the palm of his hand. Ron glanced at it, back easing into the doorframe. Tilting his massive shoulders one way, his hips another, he asked,  
“What’s wrong, Juice? You’ve been acting strange all night.”  
  
Juice’s words failed him for a moment, his lips mouthing something but no voice fueling them. Ron quirked his eyebrow questioningly, a small tendril of panic curling in his belly.  
“What’s going on, sweetheart? Just tell me.”  
  
Licking his dry lips, finally the jigsaw in his throat came together and spat out entire phrases. “I… I got a text this afternoon.”  
The pause that followed wasn’t for effect. Juice needed it to stifle the nausea rising within him.  
“And?” The question was terse, laced with Tully's increasing impatience.   
  
Smiling weakly, Juice tried to hide his inner misery from his husband’s probing stare. “I got a text from Chibs. He’s coming through the county. Asked… “  
  
Ron’s face contracted into a passive mask. “He wants to see you,” he whispered.  
Juice nodded bleakly.  
Tully thought for a moment that he wasn’t going to answer, that he didn’t want to upset Juice because some primal, stupid jealousy was awakened within him. But he decided these things were best discussed. Shit like this left untouched would only fester. He knew- he remembered the silences that used to echo in his family's house after his father would return from his alcohol-induced escapades. He'd stumble in after having gone missing for days, reeking of whiskey and pussy.   
  
Placing a warm palm on the roundness of Juice's shoulder, he squeezed gently.  
“I’m in no position to ask you not to see him. I’d be lying if I said I was happy about it. But being jealous and macho would probably send you right back into his arms. All I ask is that you’re honest with me afterwards about what happens.”  
  
Suppressing the relief that kept wanting to come, Juice summoned a ghost of a frown. He knew he was putting Ron in a shitty position. They had no secrets- he was aware of his history with Chibs, what he had meant to him. He knew that Sarah had been a drunken rebound after Chibs had cut him out of his life.  
Juice desperately wanted to make Ron understand that it was over, though. The MC, Chibs, Jax- it was all in the past. Like a painting draped in a tarp in the corner of an attic. Remembered and cherished, but out of sight and mind.  
  
“Papì, nothing’s gonna happen. I love YOU. I chose YOU. I just gotta see him. I’ll wonder myself into a frenzy if I don’t, you know me.”  
Ron’s eyes shifted sideways, the pain flickering just a moment and then quickly veiled.  
“It’s fine, baby. I get it. I trust you.”  
  
_I trust you._ The words hung in the air thick with responsibility, and a pang of worry seized Juice’s heart.  
Did Tully trust him?  
Shit, did Juice trust _himself_ around Chibs again?  
  
Ron really didn’t want to discuss it further, because he turned on his heel a second later. Juice kept his round, chestnut eyes fixed on the back of Tully’s head as he made his way over to the sofa.  
Something about Wilbur and Charlotte rang through the living room, but Juice wasn’t paying attention.  
He was too busy having a panic attack. Grabbing some Ajax cleaner and a rag, he proceeded to take his angst out on the counters.  
_  
  
“Papì, what are you doing?” Juice asks sleepily, crossing the room to meet him. Tanned arms circle his waist and he presses his cheek into the hard lines of Ron’s back.  
“Just watching the sky,” Tully replies, somewhat sullen.  
“You really like to do that, huh, papì?”  
The inky blackness of his eyes reflect the sunrise with chipped carnelian flecks.  
  
“I was always in love with the sky, no matter the weather. I used to want to be a pilot, did I ever tell you that?”  
“No.” Accompanying the word is Juice’s head swinging slowly side-to-side.  
“Yeah, that was a long time ago. That was… _before_.”  
  
Grasping Ron’s hand, Juice holds the fingertips up to his lips and kisses them.  
“You’re not okay, are you baby?”  
It's more a fact than a query. Tully forces his spine upright and turns to face his husband.  
“I have to be honest with you. I’m afraid I’ll lose you to him. That when you see him again, it’ll all come flooding back. I don’t know why, I know it’s irrational… but it’s fucking eating me up inside to think you might leave me. I don’t have a life without you and Diego. You two are my life.”  
  
He’s never seen him like this, so insecure. Face marred with concern and fatigue.  
 _I’m doing this to him just so I can see Chibs again. Fuck!  
  
_ Juice’s brow furrows, too many conflicting emotions bumping headlong into his mind. The familiar sensation of sick creeps up his throat. Why is he always fucking shit up?  
  
“Papì, I won’t see him. I can’t stand to think my fucking need for closure is doing this to you.”  
The blood pounding in Tully’s temples leaps to his heart and makes his knees weak. He wishes he felt differently. He doesn’t want to be an asshole about all this. But the thought… the thought of…  
  
“I don’t want you resenting me later. I know what he meant to you, Juice. You have to see him today. It’s gonna be okay, I’m a big boy. And like you said, we love each other. There’s nothing for me to fear.”  
  
Juice searches his gaze with watery eyes. Ron half-grins, a poor attempt at consolation. Upon further thought he draws him near, chest to chest.  
“I love you, papì,” Juice breathes. Mutely Juice’s hands travel to Ron’s jaw, cradling his face without closing his palms over the cheeks.  
“Hold gently what you wish to grow old with, don’t close those hands. My abuela told me that once.”  
  
“Oh sweetheart," Tully melts into a puddle. Bringing his burning lips to Juice’s, he claims his mouth tenderly. Next he leaves them as he sears a path down Juice's neck to his black skull tat.  
"Fuck..." Juice murmurs.  
  
Their sexes stir, the kisses sending the pit of Ron’s stomach into a crazy swirl. “I want you… “ he begs as he pinions Juice against the wall, hiking the front of his pants down in urgency.  
Juice isn’t wearing any underwear and his tented cock flies free, tip already glistening in the low glow.  
  
Looking up at his lover as he drops to his knees, Ron's fingernails drag intent on tracing the supple skin of Juice’s inner thighs. Juice gasps when he finds his hardness swallowed by Ron's teasing lips.  
  
A few licks rouse a melting sweetness within the boy.  
“Papì,” he manages, already short on breath.  
“Shh sweetheart,” Ron replies between sucks. “Let me give you a little incentive to come back home to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this crack ship! Feel free to kudo and especially comment! It's been a little dry in Archive of late.
> 
> A couple phrases from Tumblr prompts.


	3. Where the Wild Things Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tully is a nervous wreck.  
> Juice meets Chibs again after many years. Part One.

Sometimes we have to let go of what’s killing us, even if it’s killing us to let go.  
_  
  
  
If anxiety had sound it would be the chug of the dishwasher. It would be the sharp clang of the refrigerator as the motor kicks in.  
It would be the soft tic of the clock that Tully’s currently studying as it subtracts the seconds to the minute. THE minute.  
In 14 seconds Juice will see Chibs again.  
  
Goddammit.  
Ron sits. Then stands up. Then sits again. A half-read copy of “Where the Wild Things Are” yawns on the arm of the sofa and his constant movements make it drop softly to the floor.  
Diego picks it up with his free hand and lays it delicately on the coffee table. He’s been taught to respect books. To respect all his things.  
  
Between his quick, shallow breaths Tully glances at the paperback.  
Page 23. That’s where they left off. He doesn’t need a bookmark.   
  
Diego watches him watch the clock once more.  
“Are you okay, Papa?”  
Lips red from the popsicle he’s been babysitting, he bats his long eyelashes. They don’t normally let him have a lot of sugar, but today is a day of exceptions. Of breaking the norm and snapping the rules in half.  
  
“I’m okay, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”  
He’s not. Not at all. The furthest thing from okay, actually. But no need to trouble his son about it.

“Papa, where’s Daddy?”  
Tully doesn’t hear the question. He’s too busy not blinking. Too busy working himself into a frenzy. There’s an unsettling movie playing in his head right now and swiffering away these images wouldn’t work even if he tried.  
Juice kissing Chibs. Juice in Chibs’ arms, making a mattress dip of some rented bed in a cheap motel off the state highway. Juice tugging on Chibs’ lower lip as his eager fingers tighten around Chibs’ cock before impaling himself on it… gasping with pleasure at the fill.  
 _  
What the fuck am I doing?!_  
Ron shakes his head, trying to clear his mind of the cobwebs and the pyrotechnics.  
“Papa, where’s Daddy?” Diego enquires again.  
Juice is probably already there, Tully thinks. Leaning against his bike, his sunglasses in one hand and his pride in the other. If Tully knows anything about his husband, and he knows everything about him, he’s pacing.  
He’s pacing and counting the steps as he surveys the parking lot for the approaching Dyna.  
“Daddy’s meeting an old friend.”  
Tully hopes, prays that’s all he’s doing.  
_

Juice is pacing. Counting the steps as he surveys the parking lot for the Dyna. It’s only a minute past one. No need to worry. Chibs will show.  
He will.  
  
In fact, before he even has time to rub his eyebrow or bite his lip, he hears it.  
Jesus Christ.  
Juice’ll never forget the sound of that bike’s engine. Muscle memory- even after all these years hearing it approach makes his heart leap and his knees tremble. Juice hangs the sunglasses on his clutch and stuffs his hands in his pockets as he waits. They’re shaking so much, he can feel the tremor against his thighs.  
  
Chibs takes the turn and pulls up next to Juice. He smiles in Juice’s direction as he shuts off the motor, and that’s all it takes. They’re a few feet apart, and already the nearness makes each man's senses spin.  
Somewhere between Chibs getting off the bike and Chibs dusting off his hands, Juice forgets to breathe.  
  
Chibs pushes the wet hair from his face and extends his arms expansively in invitation. The kid looks good. Healthy and happy. Chibs is relieved, ignoring the shiver of desire unexpectedly passing through him.  
His tongue moistens dry lips, and for a moment he flits his gaze downward.  
“Hey lad.”  
  
It’s two steps.  
Two seconds.  
Two skipped heartbeats.  
Here we are, Juice thinks. He’s looking as fucking beautiful and sexy as ever and now he’s putting his hands on my shoulders pulling me to him and I’m trying to brace myself but I can’t be stiff because he’s gathering me so tightly against his chest that I can smell his shower gel and cologne once more and it’s making me fucking melt and dammit he hasn’t changed either in 7 years and Christ Almighty -  
  
“Hey Chibs,” Juice manages before the tears start to drip onto Chibs’ cut. He wanted to call him Filip. Remove himself from the pet names and the past but he couldn't do it.  
He couldn't fucking do it.  
It hits him all at once, his pointy shoulder blades shaking with harsh, tearing sobs he can’t control.  
“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Chibs’ damp tresses and squeezes. The years roll back, as do all his misdeeds.“I’m so fucking sorry _for all of it_.”  
  
“Ah Jesus Christ, Juicy,” Chibs murmurs, looking up to the heavens with liquid eyes. The kid's quaking in his boots. Chibs suppresses the urge to fecking weep along with him, pressing his lips against Juice’s tribal tattoo instead.  
The warmth of his skin, the spicy scent clinging to his clothes.  
Fuck! How long has it been since... ?  
  
  
Chibs cradles the back of his head with his enormous hand and tries not to pull away. Tries not to push him off. Because that's exactly what he wants to do. If somehow he swallows his restraint and manages to unstick himself from Juice's heat, he'll grab his perfect face and kiss him so hard....  
If Chibs dares do that, he just knows he'll never ever fucking stop.   
  
“Yer fine, Juicy. Yer fine. It’s all in the past, lad. It’s all in the past.”   
Chibs can barely utter the words. He’s missed him. So fucking much he had to bleed for it and bury it just to get through all these years.  
How did he make it this far without him? he wonders.   
  
  
_Juicy._  
Between stuttered inhales Juice thinks how many times he'd heard that cascade from Chibs’ full lips as they made love… the same grit to his Rs and the husky tone that unfailingly always made his…  
He needs to stop. He needs to stop.   
And yet there's the pull.   
  
Juice relaxes, sinking into Chib’s cushioning embrace. Guilt sears through him, because something is happening that shouldn’t be.  
Something is stiffening while another thing is disintegrating.   
  
It’s a physical reaction, he tells himself. (Lies to canopy other uncomfortable truths). Is this muscle memory again?  
He gasps, the silkiness of Chib’s hair against his mouth. A tremble heats his thighs and groin, not unlike the painful ache building between Chib’s legs.  
  
Juice can’t deny he’s longed for the protectiveness of his ex-lover’s arms on occasion. Chibs made it hard to slip out of bed before the sun had even woken up.  
Chibs can’t deny he’s longed for the familiarity of Juice’s body. His sharp angles and his soft curves, the mystery of him solved with salt and sweat.  
  
For the moment, there’s been no sinning. But contrition is slowly creeping into the forefront of their minds just in case. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooohh things are heating up! Will Juice resist temptation? Will the past stay in the past?  
> Stay tuned!


	4. Ron and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice reunites with Chibs, part two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story Bobby is alive, btw. It comes up is why I'm mentioning it.

“Nostalgia is truly one of the great human weaknesses.”  
_  
  
Chibs breaks, turning on his heel. He lets his arms drop as if they were aflame and smothering a groan, he takes a step back. Showing his palms, he exhales deeply. His lungs burn for air with prickling needles in his chest.  
“Sorry, Juice. It’s just-“  
  
“Overwhelming?” Juice murmurs.  
He wipes the hot tears from his stained cheek with the back of his quivering hand. As he sniffles, Chibs nods in agreement, his dark almond eyes depthless in their affection.  
“Aye, ye could say that. _Overwhelming_.”  
  
The understatement of the fucking century, actually, Filip thinks.  
He didn’t expect this. He didn’t expect that three minutes into seeing Juice again he’d be holding his loosened body, each crying into the other’s shoulder over sadder, less wise times.  
Times written in rust and ash.  
  
Jesus, holding him again was bliss, though. The familiar curves and edges of his frame, the scent and the warmth that Chibs had grown used to waking with for years.  
With half-closed eyes he breathes a silent prayer of gratitude for Juice showing. If he never gets to see him again after this, at least he’ll have what they just shared to keep him company on lonely nights.   
  
For a long moment they stare at each other.  
Ground cinnamon.  
Black pepper.  
Juice’s eyes fix Chibs’, past the fire in the expression and into his own muddled thoughts. The blood pounding in Juice’s ears increases his difficulty in finding words to describe what he’s feeling. And what is that, exactly?  
Regret?  
Attraction?  
Longing for something long gone or just nostalgia for what might have been?  
Fuck, maybe he shouldn’t have come. Why did Chibs ask him here?!  
  
The sound of an occasional car driving past on the county road and some birds chirping are the only interruptions to their outer silence. Within a thousand flashes, pop-ups of memories are being projected into the forefront of their minds.  
_  
  
They can’t just keep standing here in the parking lot. They look like assholes.  
Filip spots a picnic table just over the park’s entrance.  
“Dae ye wanna sit?” he finally utters, indicating it with a lift to his head.  
  
“Sure,” Juice replies. Rubbing the base of his neck, the other hand instinctively moves to his tummy, the butterflies floating around there turning into knots.  
They take slow, uneasy steps. Chibs keeps a safe distance as they walk, still not trusting himself to get too close. Juice’s aftershave keeps wafting over and it’s unearthing things he had buried a long time ago, with reason.

Juice sits down on the edge of the rickety table, pulling his feet on top of the plank. Filip eases himself up as well, leaving a ghost place between them, and lets his hands fall between his legs.  
  
“How are the guys?” Juice asks softly, his tone uncertain. “Did- did they ever ask about me?”  
Chibs’ head flinches back slightly.  
“Aye, they did. Especially Tiggy. He says hi, by the way. Did ye know, he and Venus live together noo.”  
“Really? That’s awesome. She made him really happy, I remember. Tell him them hi back.”  
  
Clearing his throat, Chibs continues. “He wants to know- ask ye. If they can visit ye sometime. He’s taking her fer a weekend away soon. They’ll pass by the county.”  
  
Juice turns, easing into the smile he gives Chibs next.  
So his brothers don’t hate him. Or at least two of them don’t.  
  
“I’d love that. Tell him to call me. They could meet Diego, too. He’s such a great kid, Chibs. So smart and polite.”  
Filip swivels at the mention of Juice’s son. He tilts his head and purses his lips.  
“Aye, yer wee one. I heard aboot that. Congrats.”  
  
A glance flits to the black band on Juice’s left hand. Filip swallows back some bile and tightens his lips.  
“Congrats on the marriage, too.”  
Juice figures Chibs knew, but his eyebrows shoot up anyway at the well-wishing.  
“Thanks,” he stammers. “It’s going on 5 years now.”

Filip pats his knee, the touch immediately electric. “That’s great, Juicy. Great…” his voice trailing off.  
  
He’s happy for Juice. He really is. He’s just fucking miserable for _himself._  
If things had gone differently… if decisions made had been more planned out, that’d be his fucking wedding ring circling Juice’s finger.  
  
_  
  
Chibs had been told. Shortly after it happened, he’d heard from one of the MC guys who had picked it up on the parole grapevine.  
Nobody back at the club understood. They’d said Juice was fucking crazy and that Tully had done a number on him in there. People talked about Stockholm Syndrome and brainwashing.  
But they spoke from a place of error. They didn’t know the truth.  
Not the _real_ truth.  
  
Half of them had never been in jail. They didn’t know where being someone’s bitch began and falling in love ended. But that wasn’t the case here. The guys were working under an assumption and false information.  
All but Tig and Bobby had been kept in the dark.  
  
Chibs had cleverly forgotten to tell the club he’d had words with Jax when Juice had gone in. He’d called off the hit and the abuse that went with the implication, because regardless of what Juan Carlos had done, nobody did a fellow brother that way. Not inside.  
Even Jax had killed Jury, right?  
  
So, no one was innocent. Directly or indirectly, they all had blood on their hands.  
Sparing Juice had purpose. In fact, having him on the inside, unknowingly an accomplice to the MC’s workings with the AB, was critical.  
When he heard about the nuptials, Chibs wasn’t surprised. He knew better, because he knew Juice better than anyone. (Or at least he did once).  
If Juice married Ron Tully, it was because he really loved him, not because he had been coerced or threatened into developing feelings for him.  
  
_  
  
“So things are good at home? Ye and- uh- Ron?” he stutters, trying to keep his voice casual.  
  
Heat radiates through Juice’s chest at the question, making his mouth curl into a wide smile. A vision of Ron reading to Diego and blowing him a kiss… it warms his heart. His two loves.  
“Yeah. Really good. Ron runs a couple online businesses, I’ve got my weed shops. It’s a quiet life. After everything that happened, I couldn’t ask for more. I’ve got my son and a man who loves me, you know?”  
  
Chibs’ countenance tips in sorrow. He’s trying not to show the pained awareness spreading through him.  
 _I know. That could have been me. That could have been us.  
  
_ “Ron saved my life, Chibs,” Juice says almost as an afterthought. “If it hadn’t been for him I’d be dead.”  
  
What he really means between the lines is _if the club hadn’t given up on me, I wouldn’t have had to do favors for the AB in the first place. I’d still be alive, regardless.  
_ Juice refrains from saying these harsh words because it's okay now. He had to go through it and Ron’s love came out of all of it, so… all for the best. _  
_“But that’s not why I’m with him," he defends himself. "I mean-“  
  
Filip relaxes, drawing in a deep breath. His hands steeple together and then he raises his right, shaking his head.  
“I dinnae think that, lad. I know- I know what _really_ happened, and I dinnae think that.”  
  
Wow. Talk about loyalty. So Tully had kept Chibs’ secret all these years, apparently.  
The shot caller had never told his husband _it was Chibs who had been paying his protection money, out of pocket, while Juice was inside_.  
  
Perhaps it was easier on Juice to go on thinking he was dead to the club? Or was it easier for Tully to manage?  
Filip doesn’t know what he was feeling then. He couldn’t be seen visiting Juice, and so he never did. He still fucking hates himself for it to this day, but it was a necessary evil.   
Whatever Ron’s reason for keeping quiet about it all these years, he doesn’t really blame him.  
Most of the club _had_ turned their back on Ortiz. Still do.  
It’s difficult to work your way back from being a rat.  
  
Chibs decides it’s not his place now to reveal this. If Ron ever wants to tell him, fine. But Chibs doesn’t want to be the one to shake Juice’s foundation like that.  
It would do nothing, anyway. He’s clearly taken and happy. But with that in mind, it’s eating away at him. He needs for Juice to know something. At least this one thing. It’s important.   
  
“There’s something I need ye to know, lad," he declares. "With all due respect to Ron.”  
  
Juice leans lightly forward, a breath caught in his gullet. _With all due respect to Ron._ He tilts his face toward Filip, thinking he might know what this is all about. The sexual tension earlier wasn’t casual or one-sided.  
  
“What, Chibs?” What’s that shadow that’s darkened over your gaze?  
  
God help the biker, but that natural, recognizable gesture almost makes him kiss Juice. He catches himself in time.  
  
“Juicy,” he says, expression thunderous.  
“I- I just need to tell ye something. Before you go, before I may never see ye again.”  
  
“Why wouldn’t you see me ag-“  
“Let me finish, lad,” he interjects.  
  
His hand clasps over his mouth, and Juice leans his freshly shaven chin on the palm.  
“I’m listening,” he breathes.  
  
Chibs’ onyx eyes dart nervously back and forth between his boot and Juice’s face.  
“I need ye ta know two things, Juicy. The first, I never gave up on ye. Me, Bobby, and Tiggy… we all care about ye. Even noo.”  
  
Juice looks down suddenly, unable to hold his gaze. There are a couple tears just waiting to pearl in the corner of his eyes… it's honestly all he wanted. To know the ones that mattered don't hate him.   
“Thanks, Chibs. It means a lot. I know I don’t deserve even that, but it means the world.”  
  
Resisting the urge to grab him, to kiss away the years of pain and misunderstandings… Filip digs his nails into the fleshy part below his thumb.  
His own sense of loss is beyond tears.  
  
“And the second-“ his voice grits over.  
This one’s harder. This one is gonna fucking sting because he knows there is no hope.   
  
“I… I still love ye, Juicy. I never stopped. I know ye think I did, that I disappeared. I need ye to know I had to. I had to.”  
  
Rags of tension pull at Juice’s temples, to the point he forgets he hasn’t taken a breath. Lips move, but…  
After _all this time, Filip still loves him._  
Lips move and nothing’s coming out.  
  
Chibs dares a touch. His hand curls against the warm, soft skin of the back of Juice’s neck.  
Watery eyes look up at him.  
“I know yer married now. I know ye don’t feel the same about me. I just need ye to know that if ye did, if in some parallel universe we could still make this work, I’d put ye on the back of my bike. I’d take ye home and make love to ye until we swept away all the madness that was.”  
  
There’s a part of Juice that will always love Chibs. Always. Their relationship was too important to erase, anger and resentment or not.  
Fuck, the moment of their reunion brought it all to the surface, as if it had been there all along lying dormant, only to scratch and claw its way back up.  
He loves Chibs. He does. But he’s not _in love_ with him. And above all, he’s not a cheater.  
  
There’s a picture of Ron and Diego smiling as his phone screensaver. He doesn’t need to pull his phone out to see it, he’s got it carved into his heart. His boys. His new life.  
He can’t.  
  
Juice knows Filip’s wasn’t actually an indecent proposal for a onetime rendezvous. And even if he forgot his principles- even if he _were_ able to go to a motel and fuck Chibs’ brains out without feeling guilty about it… it’d be too dangerous to even attempt.  
Chibs was a drug to him. A drug he had to hate, curse, and fuck away in order to move on. Going back to that would make any other kind of life possible for him. He’d get sucked into something that no longer belongs to him.  
The reaper may still be on his skin, (he knows he was supposed to get rid of it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it), but that life isn’t _under his skin_ anymore.  
  
“I’m sorry, Chibs,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. A part of me will always love you... always. But I’ve got a family now. I’m a different person. I wish I could... I wish it were a different time and place. But it’s not. It’s so hard... because seeing you reminded me of it all. You watched me fall apart, I was a mess.  
You still take my breath away- you’re my sexy Scot who knows me inside out. And if things were different, I’d be on the back of your bike right now. Jesus Christ we would make love until we’d forget ourselves.   
That can’t happen now.   
You’re in my heart, Chibs. I thank you for your sweet words, for all the love we had. I consider you a soulmate. I wish you every happiness.”

  
Filip deflates before him. Despite his closed air, Juice can sense his vulnerability.  
“It’s all right, lad. It’s all right. I just needed ye to know. I didn’t wanna leave things as they were. It wasn’t right.”

The conflict of emotions follow one another in quick succession across his face.  
Love.  
Hope.  
Disappointment.  
Despair.  
He fingers his scar, ending on his whiskered upper lip.

”He ever does anything to hurt ye, Juicy, he’ll have to answer to me.”

Juice pulls him near and cradles his face. Stares him straight in his star-filled eyes. 

“See? This is why I fell in love with you. You were born selfless.  
You’ll always be my one and only first love, Chibs.  
And we’ll always have Charming.”

  
With a soft sigh, Juice settles his mouth on his. A chaste kiss on the lips, warm and sweet, is their goodbye.  
  
_  
  
The gravel doesn’t have time to settle and Tully’s already on the porch. He doesn’t want to be that guy… the one who runs out to see if his husband is coming back with hickeys and an untucked shirt- but goddammit he’s been a wreck all afternoon.  
  
“Hey papì,” Juice beams. "Where's Diego?"  
He’s about to put the helmet on the seat, but he’s distracted by Ron.  
"Taking a nap."  
  
Ron’s heart swells- he doesn’t even know what comes over him, but he takes the steps two at a time and crashes into Juice. The helmet falls from Juice’s grip.  
  
“Hey baby,” Ron sibilates, His look is troubled, serious, and yet laced with almost embarrassingly open love. Not that Ron cares anymore who knows.  
  
He doesn’t hesitate to claim his lips in a gesture of rough affection. Juice melts into him, feeling like all is right in the world again.  
They share a slow, shivery kiss. One of those that reaches into your soul and drags your deepest desires to the core of your being.   
  
Relief washes over Tully when they break. Even though he can smell traces of Chibs’ cologne on him, he gathers from Juice’s body language and their gentle, drugging kiss that nothing happened.  
“How’d it go?” he asks.  
“I’ll tell you later,” Juice answers with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Nothing of import. He just needed to tell me a couple things.”  
  
His heart is fluttering wildly in his chest from the excitement. “Papì, I was late because I had to stop somewhere. Here, I got you something,” he announces proudly.  
  
Being handed to him is a white envelope. Ron’s brow crosses.  
“What is it?” he says as his fingers tug on the flap.  
“It’s a surprise,” Juice articulates rather breathlessly.  
  
Ron’s eyes scan the paper, and the further he progresses, the more misty his vision becomes.  
“Baby, you got me flight lessons?” he whispers in a voice breaking with emotion. For once Tully finds himself scrambling for words.  
  
Heart swelling, almost literally bursting in his chest, Juice gathers him in his arms, wrapping them around his waist.  
“Yes, papì. I remembered what you said this morning. It made me so sad you had to give up on your dream. I’ve put you through so much today on top of everything else, I just wanted to do something to make you happy. I love you, Ron, with everything I am. If you think I and Diego are your life, well, you two are my entire world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd have hated myself if Juice had cheated. And I was honestly afraid of the aftermath if I had written it that way haha!  
> That kiss at the end was innocent, a gift from Juice to Chibs in honor of their years together. 
> 
> All the titles of the chapters are from or related to children's works. The title of this one is from "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day" by Judith Viorst.  
> It's going to be a running theme in this series (series, or chaptered story... you know what I mean). 
> 
> The first quotation is from "The Office," said by Dwight Schrute. 
> 
> As always thanks for taking the time to read this!! I adore you!


	5. One Fish, Two Fish...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Tully met Chibs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We find out what happened when Tully met Chibs in Stockton, even before being introduced to Juice.

“I’m sorry, who are you again? This is taking time away from my rec.”  
Ron looks unimpressed. Almost annoyed. He was reading a new book and honestly it was finally building to a reveal.  
Tully doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s reading is the message he’s trying to convey with his tight jaw and folded arms.  
  
“I’m Filip Telford. Jax sent me.”  
When he heard someone from the MC was coming to visit, he assumed it’d be Jax. He’d always just dealt with the Pres. Now staring back at him is an older man with facial scars and coal eyes, set so deep they crease into angles when he squints.  
“And who are you to Jax?”  
Like an uncle would be his first response. A brother. Dare he say father figure? “VP of the MC. Long-time friend of his father’s.”  
  
Recognition slackens Tully’s posture.  
The Scot. This must be Jax’s right-hand man, he guesses correctly. Resting his elbows on the steel slab, Ron’s long fingers lace in front of him. He pulls back his strong shoulders and lifts his chin, gaze scrutinizing the visitor.  
“Well, _Filip,_ why didn’t Jax come himself?”  
A smirk plays at the corner of Tully’s mouth. He’s heard of this guy, sure, but trust in prison is earned. Through favors and financial (or other types of) transactions. Not to mention Telford is acting sketchy. Tully just wants to be sure this isn’t some kind of set-up.  
  
Chibs feels something tighten in his chest. Fidgeting fingers drum on the table and the itch in his throat makes him clear it with a light cough.  
“Are you nervous about something?” Tully asks. Filip’s looking around the room as if he’s misplaced his wallet.  
“I bought the room, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ron remarks. “You can talk freely.”  
  
Filip nods, runs a rake of quivering fingers through his long hair before leaning forward. Christ, Juice’s life is riding on this meeting, he keeps reminding himself. So much so he’s thought himself into a panic attack.  
 _If I fuck something up, that’ll be on my conscience for the rest of my life._  
  
“Jax dinnae have time to come himself. We’re… shifting some things around in the club and well, things are changing. We’re ironing out some wrinkles.”  
Jax meeting Mr. Mayhem soon being the biggest fucking crease in the organization. The San Andreas fault of motherfucking wrinkles.  
  
“So why are you here, exactly? What’s all this got to do with me?”  
It’s a valid question. Jax had tasked him with "taking care of Juice" in the mob sense of the term. The kid got put in solitary before he could even touch him. Is this what Telford’s here for? Is there a change of plan?  
  
“Listen, Tully… there’s been a change of plans.”  
 _And there it is_ , Ron smiles to himself.  
“I need to ask ye to alter Jax’s previous orders.”  
  
Chibs’ jerky movements continue. He can’t seem to sit still.  
Ron’s lips thin. “And Jax signed off on this… modification?”  
“Aye," Filip answers almost too quickly. "Ye can call him if ye dinnae trust me.”  
  
Chibs waits for a reply, frozen in place. Elbows pressing into the sides, he makes his body as small as possible.  
“Listen. It took some coercion. This is… _personal_ to me.”  
  
The answer to the question gnawing at Tully reveals itself in the widening of Telford’s stormy eyes.  
“I see. Is this about the boy? The Puerto Rican?”  
  
“Aye.” He doesn’t say another word lest he break down in front of the shot caller. He’s terrified he’s too late, that something has already happened to Juice.

Tully closes the gap between them, head tilted in Chibs’ direction.  
“You in love with the fish?”  
Filip diverts his gaze to the camera perched in the room’s corner. He swallows hard. The room is spinning now and he thinks there must be confetti being thrown somewhere because he can’t focus for the lights…  
  
He’s not supposed to show emotion. Weakness. But Jesus Mary and fuck this is JUICE he’s talking about.  
JUICE.  
The love of his life.  
The love of his life.  
  
“That thing off?” Filip whispers.  
Ron nods mutely.  
“Aye. I huvnae told anyone outside of the club. All right? Jax… he’s agreed to call off the hit. Ye… Ye huvnae done anything, have ye?”  
  
Tully leans back, his broad chest thrust forward. He looks Filip up and down, like he’s sizing him up for a new suit. The man’s features carry with them a startling amount of information.  
  
“Relax,” he reassures him. “No one’s harmed the boy. Actually, we haven’t been able to even get to him. He got placed in solitary a bit after getting here. My reach only shadows so far.”  
“Thank God,” Chibs exhales, shining eyes locked on the source of his relief. “Thank God.”  
  
Tully’s expression softens somewhat. He’s starting to feel for this guy. If he’s willing to out himself for some rat, there must really be sentiment there. Especially if Jax agreed to a pardon.  
“Let me ask you something. Is the fish in love with you, too?” Tully asks more out of curiosity than anything. What the hell, he’s been bored lately. And this shit is better than a soap opera.   
  
Keeping himself deceptively composed is impossible. Even thinking about Juice Ortiz turns Chibs into an emotional, hormonal mess. Despite everything that’s happened, the fact that he had to make Juice believe he hated him… (and didn’t that plunge a knife into his guts and fucking splice him open)... despite all the manure that’s been shoveled and thrown about, he can’t fake not having feelings for Juice.  
  
“Aye. We were together. We were in love.”  
Ron looks him fully in the eyes for a moment. He reads their journey in the tears pooling and the past tense hanging off Filip’s chapped lips.  
It must be nice to be loved like this, Ron thinks forlorn. Even if it’s for a hummingbird’s lifetime.   
  
“I see. So what exactly is the new program?”  
  
Chibs holds out his hand suddenly, unexpectedly… and while Tully flinches, he doesn’t pull away. The warmth over the top of his hand feels nice, though foreign.  
Fuck. How long has it been since he’s felt a caress?  
  
“Keep him safe. No matter what the cost. He’ll do favors for you, whatever the MC and the AB decide on. But nobody touches a hair on the lad. Not a hair. Ye put him in a cell with ye if necessary. He’s not to be harmed _in any way_.”  
  
The heat from Chib’s skin is soothing. Ron revels in it, breathes in a rib-stretching inhale. He drags his attention from their clasped hands back to Chibs’ face.  
“Okay. Orders are orders. But this won’t come cheap. There are guards I have to pay off- transfers I’ll have to buy. Protection money I must spread around in order to assure his safety. Are you sure you’re willing to spend this kind of money on a rat your MC doesn’t give a shit about?”  
  
Chibs wants to tell him he doesn’t get it. He’s probably never been in love. He’s never felt the hollow of coming home to an empty bed that was once a solace of love, acceptance.  
He’s never held a shivering, weeping Juice until their cleaved bodies slowly quieted the shudders with mere physical presence.  
That lad loved Chibs equal to the pain he’d been through, and more.  
Christ. Unless he’s lived this kind of selfless abandon- savored it’s bittersweet poison- Ron Tully could never understand that sometimes loving someone more than yourself meant letting them go.

Choking up, Filip runs the length of his four fingertips under his moist eye. The two men come unstuck, Chibs reaching into his hoodie. He pulls out a thick envelope and slides it under Tully’s nose.  
“Whatever it takes. Keep him safe. I’ll pay you twice a month out of my own pocket. Either here or in commissary. You tell me."   
  
He taps his finger on it, accentuating the point. “Down payment. The protection starts today.”  
  
The envelope disappears down Ron’s pants, the shot caller instinctively looking over his shoulder even though they're alone.   
  
"So?"  
The Nazi has been quiet, Chibs thinks. His face a passive mask. Is he really going to do this for him?

_  
  
In reality, Ron’s still thinking about the unbidden touch. How its glow made his blood rush and his mind hum.  
This must be what it’s like to feel wanted, ... to have someone care for you, even just a tiny bit, he muses. A part of him long forgotten tears a little at his core.   
  
Tully never had that. He never had security of... anything. Tully’s legacy of affection was cigarette burns and backhanded bitch slaps. His bedtime stories were his mother’s muffled cries as his drunk deadbeat father wailed on her until his knuckles bled.  
Ron’s only friends were (are?) the characters in his books. His special quiet place the setting of the next magical tale he read.   
Better than nothing, right? Some people don’t even have that. 

_

  
“We clear?” Chibs asks again, worry furrowing his brow.  
“Yeah, we’re clear.” Ron gives him a little whisk of a smile. He smooths an invisible table cloth with his enormous palm. “I'll take care of your boy, Filip. _I’ll make sure no one else breaks his heart_.”  
  
Chibs doesn’t know what that means, if it's a jab at him or not. It doesn't matter. Ron Tully can think what he wants.  
He's agreed to watch over Juice and that’s all that matters.  
  
“One more thing,” Chibs asks. The heaviness in his limbs finally dissipating.  
“Shoot.”  
Filip stalls and probes Ron's face with serious intent.  
“Juice can never know it was me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish" by Dr. Suess  
> The line about loving as much as pain comes from "Is the love you felt to equal the pain you've gone through" from the song Bones- Editors.  
> And the line about protecting Juice from heartache is from the last season, Tully says it to Jax. 
> 
> Hope you liked it! Thanks as always for reading me


	6. Chicka Chicka Boom Boom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pillow talk... 
> 
> *I'm sorry I had to repost the chapter due to some technical issue it wasn't posting properly.*

“So what am I, your old lady?”  
Ron whispers it and immediately after he doesn’t even know why he said it. What haunt of Samcrow memories is he still competing with?!  
  
Okay, he _did_ smirk as he posed the question, and it might have come off as slightly facetious because that’s Tully. But it’s fucking pitch in the room and Juice certainly can’t read his expression.  
He also can’t read _his tone_ since his husband is just slightly preoccupied. About 14 seconds ago Juice came all over Ron’s hand, Tully’s enormous palm (the one not stroking him out) having to smother a raw groan from the man.   
  
It’s 2 am and Diego’s asleep. Tully’s had trouble keeping Juice “quiet” lately. This latest round of lovemaking has got them weary beyond endurance. Ever since Juice got back from seeing Chibs, it’s like something set his blood on fire, making his veins run lightning.

Not that Tully’s complaining. He’s had 3 days of the most amazing sex they’ve probably ever had. But Ron’s timing for a scheduled session of self-doubt and paranoia couldn’t be more impeccable.  
Jesus Christ.  
“Papì, what?!” Juice pants, still blissed out from his orgasm. _What the hell is he going on about? Old women? Did the weird cat lady from down the road come over again?  
  
_ It’s difficult for Juice to concentrate. Ron’s holding his mouth hostage, smearing some of his fresh come over his plump bottom lip with his thumb.  
Tully licks over it, savoring the taste of his lover as the thinning spend tingles his taste buds. He’s made him come so many times in the past hour it’s a miracle he’s still lucid.  
  
“I asked… if you and I were in an MC… would I be your old lady?”  
Juice’s erection still pulses in his grip, and he’s asking him WHAT?  
  
“What?!” Juice can’t wrap his head around this shit. His cinnamon skin glistens in the sliver of light penetrating the pulled blinds as he draws nearer.  
“Papì, are you okay?”  
He’s asking because… Ron’s being weird. He reaches out, body aching for Tully’s touch. He just can’t get enough of him lately. Maybe the contact will calm his… whatever this is, down.  
Licking up his breastbone, slick with perspiration, Juice mutters “What are you on about tonight?”  
From between a gasp and a moan, Tully stirs.  
“Did you know a group of crows is called a murder?”  
  
Ron doesn’t know what’s wrong. Honestly something’s hung itself in his mind and isn’t letting go. Maybe it’s the thought that Juice was patched in, and then the voting members knew he and Chibs were… it just doesn’t…  
He can’t see it but Juice is very confused.  
“Papì, are you having a nervous breakdown?” The words are drawn out, tied together with concern.   
  
Tully drags his arm up and perches himself on his elbow. His cock is hard, sliding along the crevice of Juice’s sex. Despite the bolt of desire shuddering through his body when the velvet strokes of Juice’s tongue make his EVERYTHING tingle and throb, he’s got to get this off his chest.  
“You’re distracting me,” he mewls.  
“Am not,” Juice grins, scratching up a chest that would probably repel bullets. His husband is a fortress.  
“I’m not kidding, baby. What am I?” Those midnight eyes just got a shade past spellbinding.  
Even from behind a curtain of their lovemaking he can see something’s up.  
“Ron, you’re my husband. That’s what you are. The love of my life.”  
  
Heat suffuses Tully’s cheeks, normally pale. He was there when they got married, he’s aware of their status. But Tully still loves hearing it said outloud. The other part. _The love of my life._  
So why does he still see that shadow sometimes?  
“Okay, baby. I get that, we’re married. But what would I be if you and I were bikers?”  
  
Seriously, though, Juice thinks. NOW?! Ron’s only come once to his three and that was two hours ago. Can they do this later?  
What the hell has come over him?!  
Juice stills a moment. After a slight pause of bewilderment, where Juice steals another kiss, he flattens his palm over Tully’s heart.  
“Where's this coming from?”  
“I don't know,” he breathes, voice strained. “Just thinking. There's nothing for this in the MC. Sure as hell was nothing for this in the AB. And yet you and Chibs..”  
  
That’s what this is, Juice thinks. It’s all this mess that’s happened. Tully talks a good talk but this went even deeper than he ever wanted to admit. Dammit. 

“Papì, they don't exactly allow this in any MC. Not officially. You come out you kinda get the shit beat out of you, if not worse. You fuck guys and pretend you don’t, it’s tolerated. So to speak. Anyway, Chibs was held in such esteem… I mean not even Jax would have had the courage to say anything to him. But that didn't mean... "  
  
Unfortunately Tully knows better than Juice what that meant.  
“So you were his old lady? _And now I’m yours._ ”  
  
Juice props himself up and wraps a warm hand around the back of Tully’s neck. He makes sure Ron sees him grinning as he says it.  
“Papì, you're not old. And you're definitely not a lady. But you are mine.”  
  
Both of them convulse with laughter, muffled by a pillow so they don’t wake Diego. Finally some of the tension is broken.   
“Anyway, I'm not in Samcrow anymore. Don't matter. I'm just a guy who rides a bike now. You can be anything you want to be to me, papì.”  
  
Tully lays him down with a soft sigh, settling him into the warm sheets. He touches his cheek lightly with the tip of his finger, gaze loving and tender. Piercing despite the dim lights. Perhaps in the darkness a shadow just fades straight into the night, right?  
  
“If that's the case, I want to be your everything.”  
Breath warm and moist against his neck, Juice parts his legs. He melts into the magnetic pull of his lover's body.   
"You already are, papì. You already are." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chicka Chicka Boom Boom is a bestselling American children's book written by Bill Martin, Jr. And yet all I can think about is that it sounds like bad background music to 70s porn which is just SO wrong! lmao
> 
> Chapter 7 will be up later today.


	7. Make Way for... Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just a typical work day until...

Ron’s rubbing his temples, the peak of a headache making itself known in the distant flashing spot behind his eyelids.   
“Shit, I don’t need this right now,” he thinks to himself, staring at an Excel page that looks more uncalculated than before.   
  
The invoices aren’t going to archive themselves, though. But when he moves to grab the pile of folders, a tremor tightens the muscles in his lower back. Ron shifts to the right, an effort to get more comfortable only ending up with more flexing and bunching knots by his lateral femoral nerve.   
This area has been problematic since his time in prison. Since the time he got shanked there.  
The nuisance is about as difficult to eliminate as his memories of Stockton.   
  
“Oww,” he winces, reaching his hand round back to rub the spot.   
Okay, even he admits he might have overdone it.   
  
Last night Juice was insatiable. After Tully had had his little… let’s call it “bout of anxiety,” they ended up fucking one last time, resulting in Tully coming in waves of blissful surrender. He’d been edging for two hours and it showed.   
An already orgasm-intoxicated Juice lay beneath him, body saturated and limp with lust.   
  
“I’m waving the white flag, papì,” Juice had panted, hand held to his glistening forehead, chin almost resting on his heaving chest.   
They fell asleep shortly after, Tully remembering little to nothing about a dream he was having when the alarm rang not three hours and 27 minutes later.   
It felt.like.death.  
  
The couple got Diego to the bus on time, barely, and no thanks to their son’s existential crisis over which superhero t-shirt he wanted to wear. Despite Ron’s crippling sleepiness, he sat down to work as soon as Juice left for his shop rounds.   
  
Here he is, two hours later, not even halfway through last month’s billing, with not one but TWO ails.   
_

Juice is making great time. He’s only got one shop left on today’s route, and then he can head back home. If all goes well, he’ll have time to drop by that specialty butcher in town. Maybe he’ll surprise Ron with steaks for lunch.   
  
“That’s last week’s, Juan Carlos. All the slips are in there, color and date coded as you asked.”   
  
Tammy, the shop manager for the location Juice owns closest to home, hands him the binder. The tip of her lacquered finger lingers lightly on the top of his hand when he reaches over to grab it.   
When Juice cocks his eyebrow, Tammy clears her throat and stops batting her fake eyelashes. Popping her gum, she replaces her hand on the counter and squares her shoulders.   
  
She opens and closes her mouth like an air-starved fish before she finally gathers her courage.   
“Are you in a hurry, Juan Carlos? It’s almost lunch time and I was thinking-“   
_  
_Juice can’t blame her for trying. This has been happening over the last month. (Except today he noticed the touch). She’s growing bolder, he muses.  
Juice isn’t blind. He also picked up on her changing her perfume, the fact that she started wearing make-up, and that her hair has puffed up exponentially respect to the shrinkage of her clothing.   
(It looks like she walked out of a scene of some John Hughes movie). Way to thank _Stranger Things_ for bringing the 80s fad back.   
  
Regardless… _Nope_ , he thinks immediately. Been there, _literally done that_.   
Diego was born of an exact situation to this and it was a blessing, but he does not want to mix business with… impulsive stupidity ever again. He’s not even interested on top of everything else.   
It’s not that Tammy isn’t pretty. She is, and extremely so. But she’s also 24, his employee, and seemingly unwilling to accept that he’s been married to a very large, scary man for the past 5 years.   
(Scary to others. A total cuddle bear at home).   
  
“Thanks, Tammy, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m married.”   
_I’m married. To a man. How many times do I have to say this?  
  
_ The uncomfortable smile right after makes her heart sink. Looking slightly sandbagged, she goes scarlet.   
“I’m sorry, Juan Carlos. I didn’t mean to- “  
  
“It’s okay, Tammy.” Juice lifts his palm and waves the situation away. “I’m flattered. It’s just- you work for me and _I’m taken_.”  
Juice drops the last words as he presses the binder to his chest and makes for the door. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll see you next week.”   
  
Tammy forces herself to continue studying the catalog before her. Without looking up, tears of disappointment brimming, she nods slowly.   
“Mm-hmm. Sure thing, Juan Carlos. Have a good day. See you next week," she stammers.   
  
As the bell of the shutting door rings behind him, Juice exhales deeply. God, I hope I don’t have to look for a new manager, he thinks.   
  
_  
  
The sun is particularly dazzling today, the sky a brilliant blue. Juice thinks they might be able to eat out on the patio. Grilling the steaks and some vegetables-   
Mentally listing what he needs to buy, he’s about to put on his helmet when his phone rings. Stretching to get it from his jacket pocket, as soon as Juice sees it’s **DIEGO’S SCHOOL** that beckons him to accept the call, he presses the button.   
“Hello?”  
  
For a moment he listens, puzzled.   
“Yes, this is Mr. Ortiz. I’m Diego’s father.”   
The more the woman speaks, the more Juice presses the phone closer and closer to his ear. On the last phrase, he pales completely.   
  
Juice shakes his head to no one, thumb and index finger squeezing the bridge of his nose. _Jesus Christ._  
“Yes, I understand the gravity. Yes, I’ll be right there. Thank you for calling.”   
  
When the connection goes dead, he stares at the screen blankly for a moment. Utter disbelief chokes his air supply.  
“Shit,” he whispers.   
  
Tully picks up on the first ring, looking for any excuse to look away from the spreadsheet.   
“Hey sweetheart, how’s it coming along? You’re on speaker, by the way.”  
  
The complete silence on Ron’s end of the call makes Juice’s voice ring so clearly in the room it seems like he’s there.   
The shock of Juice’s words stiffens Tully's body, the tendons in his forearms hardening beneath his sleeves.   
  
“Fuck. Yes, sweetheart, I understand. Yes… I will, don’t worry I’m not stupid.” Juice mumbles something else, but Tully’s already throwing on a dress shirt.   
“I’ll meet you at the school," he finishes.   
  
_Jesus Christ,_ he says to the mirror. "As if this day couldn't get more pain-ridden."   
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short update, I'm trying to keep them regular despite work kicking my ass this week. <3 
> 
> Title from "Make Way for Ducklings": Robert McCloskey


	8. The Giver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice and Tully go to a meeting at Diego's school after there's been an incident. Bad memories surface for one of the fathers.

A legacy of love or a monument to misery?  
No matter how hard you scrub, you can’t wash away the sins of your fathers.  
_  
  
Ron sits in oxhide, back so straight he could pass for a British brigadier. Sitting there like that, coat open, knees wide, he practically swallows up the space.  
His expression is that of a man on a throne, a ruler with a thousand kingdoms his burden. Except that’s not the case at all. His one and only preoccupation sits in the other room, roughly 48 pounds of pure unconditional love and enthusiasm for all things superhero.  
Sable eyes steeled, he stares directly ahead in silence.   
A query weighs heavy in his mind: _Did I poison my child?_  
  
The other father, dressed in black leather, shifts uncomfortably on a fold-out metallic chair. It’s a stark contrast to the unmoving man beside him.  
Juice fidgets, his gaze darts. Deep exhales break the otherwise subdued noises that can be heard from behind the closed door (nothing uncommon to a principal’s office; a telephone that never stops ringing and the tap of keyboard keys).  
Perhaps they should have invested in cheaper but matching furnishings, Juice muses. Don’t they know there’s an IKEA 5 miles away?   
Their dissimilarity shouldn’t bother Juice this much, especially given the circumstances that have brought them here. His mind would beg there are more important things to focus on… but he can’t help but notice.  
Small details jump out at him when he’s anxious.  
  
Tully has a hand clasped onto the chair’s arm, nearly white-knuckling it. The tan plasticky covering and its wood underneath is smooth against his palm.  
He exhales and squeezes, releases and tenses once more. (As if testing the chair’s integrity will help ease his sense of guilt).  
“What’s taking so long?” he finally speaks.  
  
Juice has rested his elbows on his legs now, so when his knee bounces, the top half of his body quakes.  
“I don’t fucking know. We’ve been sitting here for five minutes.”  
Sneaking a peek to the left, his line of sight reveals Diego playing Legos with Ms. Schiller.  
“Diego looks okay to me,” he notes. “That’s what’s important I guess.”  
_  
  
There’s a crystal dish of candy on the big desk facing them. It’s lodged between a stack of folders and a potted plant.

Juice leans over, plunging his hand into the mountain of crinkly wrappers. His fingers rummage, he thinks he saw a lemon one in there somewhere.  
He pulls the first. _Orange. Gross._  
Puts it back.  
Takes another. _Pineapple. Not if it’s artificially flavored… no thanks._  
Drops it.  
On the third dip, a giant hand stays him.  
“Sweetheart,” Ron punctuates the word with a controlled tone. “You’re spiraling. Stop looking for an emotional anchor in a bowl of candy.”  
  
Mercifully, a moment later a figure shadows the door. A portly woman of undisclosed age, Ms. Hannigan is known for her penchant for wearing bright colors. In fact, the school’s principal, veteran of a decade and some change, is sporting a lime green skirt and jacket.  
The men make to stand, but she stops them with a wave of her hand.  
“Mr. Ortiz, Mr. Tully, don’t get up.”  
There is both delicacy and strength in her face. She must have been beautiful when she was younger, people often think. Cool porcelain good looks still retain a trace on her features.  
  
“Thank you for coming so quickly, gentlemen. I won’t keep you long.”  
  
Juice sits forward suddenly. Before she has even sat down, he starts.  
“Ms. Hannigan, what’s going to happen now? I assure you that Diego in no way-“  
  
“Mr. Ortiz-“ she interjects, tilting her tawny head in polite concern. “I’ve known Diego since kindergarten. He’s a bright, polite boy who has never misbehaved. But you understand that as a school we are forced to react to what may be deemed from the outside as acts of hatred. Mrs. Lieberman herself was extremely upset.”  
Ms. Hannigan makes no effort to hide that her gaze lands on Ron, and more specifically to his left hand.  
  
Instinctively Ron covers his shame with his right.  
It stings, the truth. Tully can feel it burrow into his chest, the blaze from her accusatory tone making his cheeks flush.  
He opens his mouth to speak, but Juice replies first, in a pained and mournful voice. He studies his clasped hands.   
“I’m aware of the gravity of what happened. But my son doesn’t even know what that symbol means. He’s a good boy. We raise him right.”  
Ms. Hannigan nods, fingers twirling the pen in her hand.  
“Sirs, I’m sure that –“  
  
Tully straightens his shoulders and clears his throat, commanding the room. Juice looks over, misty-eyed.  
“Ms. Hannigan, this is my fault. Diego drew a swastika on his hand because he was trying to copy me. A few days ago he asked if he could get a tattoo when he grew up.”  
  
Juice’s heart sinks, his hands move to smooth his brow.  
“Jesus Christ, Ron, you didn’t tell me that,” he blurts out.  
  
Tully’s wall of false composure crumbles to pieces. He’s genuinely shaken, shoulders slightly slumped.  
He answers Juice while looking at the principal.  
“I didn’t want to worry you. I figured if he brought up the tattoos again, I’d talk to him about it. I’m sorry.”  
Not knowing what to say, Juice just sits there. Blank, shocked, and terribly still. He knows that it’s not Ron’s fault. They probably should have discussed tat removal. But Ron, Ron should have at least mentioned this… Fuck!  
  
“Mr. Tully, I’m not implying that you’re… I mean I’m aware of your backgrounds and… “  
  
“Ms. Hannigan,” Tully interrupts rather nervously. “I did what I had to do to survive in prison. If I hadn’t affiliated, I would be dead by now. The first time I went in I was barely 18, a kid outta Alabama-”  
  
For a second it’s back, Tully’s deep south pronunciation of the state hooks on it. Juice can tell Ron heard it because he stiffened and corrected himself immediately. He worked for years on eradicating that lilt to his speech. They don’t sell “How to Get the Redneck Out of You” in the DIY section. It took discipline and dedication.  
  
“I got caught up with the wrong crowd here in California. It only takes one mistake to mark your life’s path, ma’am. Everything I’ve done since then, every scar and all the ink on my body, are a testament to that struggle. I’m not justifying it, nor am I using this as an excuse. I assure you, I was part of a system set in place to break young men into submission. But having said all that, I never believed in any of it. My job was to maintain the brand. Make my brothers believe that I believed it.”  
  
The scene dances in his eyes. So fucking heartbreaking. It forces Ron to close them for a moment.  
_

  
“Fresh fish on the line, boys!”  
Every hesitant step Ron takes is followed by shouts and wolf whistles. Even though he’s trying to look ahead, his gaze pushes and pulls at all the uncaring, threatening faces.  
  
“Whatchu lookin’ at, fish?” “Sweet-assed pretty boy!”   
He was told to keep his eyes forward. The words have different owners, different skin colors. All share the same message: “If you don’t find a friend in here, we’re gonna fuck you to death.”  
  
“Hey pretty boy, why don’t you come visit me later!” “Here fish!”  
The more the voices come at him, the harder he fists into his prison-issued “welcome kit.”  
“Look at that yummy peckerwood…” “Your ass is mine, pretty boy!” “My cock is hard already, baby!”  
  
The blanket is scratchy to the touch but gripping it at least hides the fact that his hands are fucking shaking beyond control. Deep breaths stretch his ribs. Pulling his spine straight, his height and good posture helps him seem more composed than he actually is.  
  
“Welcome to your new home, Tully.” A panicked expression flitters across his handsome features, Ron’s dark eyes alert on the surroundings.  
When his gaze strays to his new cellmate, something snags a hold deep inside his chest.  
  
“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. What is he? Six foot six, 280 pounds? The man’s most prominent feature is his handlebar mustache and half of an enormous swastika sticking out from under his white t-shirt.  
The guard pushes Tully inside. He looks cautiously over his shoulder- realizing how small the space truly is brings reality crashing down on him.  
The rattle of the cage door shutting is the first prison sound Ron Tully will put to memory. It’s literally like turning a key on the rest of his life.

Ron wants to scream, beg the guard to put him in solitary. Anywhere but in this shithole block full of murderers and rapists.  
But he does nothing. He stands frozen in the middle of the cell and waits.  
  
The cellmate is silent, just stares at him blankly while chewing on the inside of his mouth. Ron can tell he’s being scrutinized, looked over from top to bottom like some animal on display for purchase.  
His only clue as to what this con might be thinking is his arching brow and slowly creeping grin. It’s not a comforting one at that.  
After an insufferable amount of time, where the cheers and the jeers and the deafening sound of laughter and chatter fade into the background to make room for Tully's thundering heartbeat, the guy finally fucking speaks.  
  
“What’s your name, fish?” The voice is deep, rattles in his barrel chest.  
“Ron, sir. Ron Tully.”  
  
The con pivots his body, a muscled arm wrapped around the bunk’s support. This physique comes from years on the yard, and watching the carb intake on the dinner trays. Unlike many of the prisoners, this man is a lean albeit HUGE fighting machine.   
“Tully, huh? Where you from, boy?”  
Ignoring the empty feeling in the pit of the stomach and his quivering, twitchy muscles… Ron manages an answer.  
“Alabama, sir. Mobile. I came to California six months ago and – “  
  
He doesn't need to hear his life story. The cellie lifts his head, pinning him with a feral look. “You don’t look a day over 16, kid. What the hell you in for?”  
It’s not cool to ask, and a polite refusal is accepted if someone does prod. But Ron doesn’t know that yet.  
“Armed robbery, sir,” he whispers.  
  
Two arms reach out and grab his pack. The cellie throws it on the bottom bunk and crosses his enormous arms.  
Ron immediately thinks he’s going to be jacked up- have to sleep on the bare mattress in his underwear. He heard of guys on their first day getting all their shit stolen.  
The monolith comes near, slow calculated steps, and Tully flinches.  
  
Grabbing him by the shoulders, green eyes boring into his liquid ones, Ron tries not to blink.  
“My name’s Dean. People in here call me Papa Smurf.”  
“Ni- nice to meet you, sir,” Tully stutters.  
  
Dean chuckles, and it makes his face relax, making him seem almost human.  
“Them southern manners get me every time.”  
Not daring to move, Tully just holds his breath in anticipation of what’s coming next.  
  
“Let me give you a few tips, Tully. You never let anyone see you cry, you hear me? Because you’re gonna wanna cry. A lot. You need to do that shit, you do it at lights out into your goddamn pillow. Make sure it’s quiet like, no sniffling. And if someone asks what you’re in for, you tell ‘em to mind their own goddamn business. At the worst, tell ‘em you killed somebody. It’ll give you a more threatening rep. With your size it just might be believable.”  
  
Nodding, Ron takes his advice to heart. Still, he doesn’t completely trust this guy. Maybe he’s just being nice because later the truth will come out. Maybe he’s just buttering him up to make him his bitch.  
“In here, a pretty young thing like you ain’t gonna survive. I don’t wanna scare you but at the first shower, Ron, you’ll have so many cocks in your ass you’ll wish you didn’t know how to count.”  
  
 _Shit._ Rubbing a hand down one of his pant legs, he asks timidly, “What am I supposed to do, sir?”  
  
With a crooking of his index finger, Dean beckons him over to sit on the bunk. All of Ron’s thoughts are a mess of static in his mind, but he can’t let that and his pounding heart distract him. He’s quickly understanding this is not a place to lose your wits.  
  
“Two things. Either you pick one of the shot callers and become his bitch, then you’re untouchable, but that also means your mouth and ass are his property. You hear me? He can pass you around to his friends if he wants. You do his goddamn laundry and clean his cell. It’s not a bad life for some, but you really gotta like cock to make it bearable. You queer?”  
Warmth spreads across Tully’s skin, and he’s beginning to feel faint. He’s barely had sex with women let alone men and the thought of…  
  
“No, sir. No. And the second, sir?”  
“Good. The second is you affiliate. Tully, what’s that? Irish?”  
“Yes sir. And Scottish.”  
  
For a moment Ron thinks Dean won’t answer, but then he gives him a brief nod.   
“Perfect. You got more or less three options in here. Aryan Brotherhood, PEN1 and Nazi Lowriders.”  
Ron inclines his head, keeping the swastika in his view.  
“Which are you, sir?”  
“I’m AB. We’re the biggest one in here and we’ve got the best ties with other gangs and the outside. I’m not telling you because I’m in it, but this is your best bet. Lowriders only take bikers, and they don’t like people from out of state. Those fuckers in PEN1 are all a bunch of redneck methheads, no offense.”  
  
For the first time since intake, Tully laughs. His being feels that much lighter: the weight of one laugh.  
“I don’t do drugs, sir, but guilty on the redneck.”  
Dean pats him lightly on the back. “Alright, Alabama. Even though you speak good. Sound like you studied. Anyway, AB it is. I’ll vouch for you. The sooner we do this, the safer you are.”  
Nuancing the gesture by wringing his hands, Tully looks up quizzically.  
“Why are you being so nice to me, sir?”  
  
Grinning at him, but without any humor in his emerald gaze, Dean unpacks Ron’s sheets from the cellophane.  
“Here, grab an end. Make your bed.”  
  
Standing, Tully pulls out a sheet and fits it over the corner of the filthy mattress. It makes his skin crawl, thinking this will be his scenery for the next six years.  
Dean continues as Ron works.  
“I wanna help you because as soon as I saw you, I saw me 20 years ago. I’ve been rotting in this shithole since 1979. I was 19, reckless, and too arrogant to see what a fucking asshole I was. Came in here thinking my shit didn’t stink. Well, I pissed off the right people right quick. Got raped the first week by 4 Crips, first time in the shower. Fuckers gave me hepatitis. Was lucky it wasn’t HIV.”  
  
“I’m so sorry,” Ron stammers. The sense of nausea rises in his throat. From under half-lidded eyes, he throws a look to the cells directly in front of theirs. Nothing but angry, tired faces. Men with no moral compass or qualms.  
“I didn’t want that to happen to you, Alabama. You join AB you’ll be protected, as long as you don’t piss your brothers off.”  
  
Watching him in profile, Tully hesitates a moment. “But I’m not racist. I don’t care about skin color, sir.”  
Ivy eyes narrow speculatively. Dean comes to a few inches from Ron’s face, his breath warm against his cheek.  
“It ain’t about believin’, Alabama. It’s about survivin'. All we’re doing here _is maintaining the brand_ until we get out. If that means putting a few swastikas on your body, to save your ass from being used like a drill-hole, then so be it.”  
“I understand, sir.”  
  
After a second, Dean thrusts his head forward and grabs Ron’s left hand. “After you get settled in, I’ll put your first tat on you. I do the ink in here for the brotherhood. I’d say…a swastika right here- “ he indicates the flesh between his thumb and index finger. “Make sure everyone can see where your loyalty lies. And anyone asks- you hate everyone that ain’t white. Got it, Alabama? _Never betray your cover_.”  
_  
  
  
 _Never betray your cover._  
“Mr. Tully? Mr. Tully!”  
  
Juice reaches over, squeezing Tully’s arm. “Ron, you okay?”  
Shaking his head in order to remove the stray pieces of memory, he drifts back to the moment.  
“I’m sorry, yes, I was reflecting on something.”  
  
Ms. Hannigan shifts her attention from Juice to Tully and then back. She sighs heavily, letting the pen drop from her fingertips like an afterthought.  
“Gentlemen, I think if you promise to speak to your son about this, we can end the matter here. I can’t in good heart believe that two ex-convicts, one Irish-American and the other Puerto Rican, who are married to each other and coparent that lovely boy out there… anyone who’d accuse you of being racist or homophobic would be a fool. This was obviously Diego’s emulation of his father, I highly doubt he knows the meaning of the symbol, as you both have stated. If you give me your word that you’ll clear this up, you can take Diego home right now.”  
  
Relieved, both Ron and Juice stand- almost too enthusiastically. Each hold out a hand.  
“We thank you for your understanding.”  
“Ron and I will talk to him, Ms. Hannigan,” Juice reassures. “This won’t happen again.”  
  
No, it won't, Tully thinks. This will not happen again... ever.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I took so long. I don't know why I was so stuck on this chapter. Maybe because it's rather personal.  
> People who go to prison aren't all bad people. They're simply people who made bad choices.  
> A good friend of mine from college fell on hard times after his divorce. He married young- was a Biology teacher in middle school. Coping mechanisms after this heartbreak turned from alcohol to speed to meth. Before he knew it he was out of work, addicted, and desperate. On his third strike for armed robbery and resisting arrest, he is now a permanent guest in the California Department of Corrections. He's probably never going to get out. To survive, given some connections he made in his life outside, my friend has had to join PEN1. He's quickly grown in the ranks given his vast intellect and talent for business.  
> I don't condone what my friend has done- I don't justify it with victimism or bullshit psych analysis. Not everyone who ends up divorced also ends up an addict or in prison. And if you'd talk to him, he doesn't excuse himself either. He knows he fucked up. But this is the story of many. It's easy for us to judge when we're not locked in a 6x8 cell all day just trying to stay alive.  
> The line about PEN1, that's straight from my friend. He's at least able to laugh at himself after 17 years inside. And the guy who helps Ron? My friend had a guardian angel as well.  
> Anyway, don't know where I'm going with this, but I hope you are enjoying this story so far. It's taken me places I thought I'd never go, and I'm glad for it. These are some people's stories as well, let's not forget. It's not all fiction.  
> Title from the children's book "The Giver" by Lois Lowry.


	9. Love You Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanting to soften the conversation they need to have with him, Juice and Tully take Diego for ice cream.  
> Tig calls Juice unexpectedly.

Piped-in pop music can barely be heard over the whir of the blender. It’s formulaic 4-chord harmonic sugar, been done a thousand times over. Probably something Taylor Swift-y or maybe Camilla Cabello- not that Tully would know who either are. He rarely listens to the radio and his mainstream musical tastes pretty much stopped at around the hair bands, Guns' Appetite for Destruction a favorite. After that it was a slow crawl into a downward spiral- post-punk shit, riding the line of emo and goth- anything that required a lot of angst (something he had plenty of) and stealing his mother's black eyeliner. He sure stuck out like a sore thumb in Mobile, which is why he wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as he turned 18.   
Yeah, the more his fucking asshole father called him a fag, the more he acted out. Ironic he did end up marrying a dude. Sometimes he kind of wishes the old man was still alive so Ron could kill him with the news all over again.   
  
"Here we go... "  
Tully grabs the dessert and carefully sets it before them. Juice slides into the booth next to him as he lays the extra napkins down on the table.  
“Everything okay, papì?” he enquires warmly.  
Ron inclines his head towards Diego and smiles. “All good here.”   
  
The shop they stopped in is new. Like a lot of places leaning towards a vintage feel, it has a 50s vibe to it. Pastel-colored walls and a counter reminiscent of times when Buddy Holly still sang and girls wore poodle skirts and pony tails. The young man behind the glass case wears a paper hat and a sunflower-yellow uniform- he would fit right in if it wasn’t for his sleeve tattoos.  
  
Squint your eyes enough you could trick yourself into believing you’d gone back to simpler, yet worse times, Tully muses. Especially if you lived in 1950s Alabama. That was before he was born, sure, but the South was as slow to change as were the summers there.   
The seasons rarely wanted to let the heat go and the people clung to their hatred like it was a religion- and for a long time it was justified as such.   
Nobody back then embraced change well.  
  
Ron inhales before the spoon disappears between his lips, letting the scent of waffle cones and toasted nuts carry him back a few years. The smooth ice cream mixes in with fruit chunks and slowly melts on his tongue, and that’s when he can almost hear his mother’s voice…  
_  
  
“Ronnie, you like that? Leave some for your brother, though. It’s my moon pie’s special day.”  
She patted Thomas’ hand as she said it.  
Ron was 11, his brother Thomas 9. On one of the rare occasions that their father hadn’t gambled, drank, and whored away all their money, his mother had managed to put a few cents into the cookie jar. It took a month, but then they’d had enough to go into town and get ice cream.  
It was Tommy’s birthday. Or it had been a week prior. Funds allowed them to celebrate a few days later, and boy Tully would never forget how happy his brother had been.  
  
Even his mom was radiant. The latest bruises were still fading, but hidden well-enough under makeup. Lucy Tully had gotten her hair done by the neighbor’s daughter, Tilly, who’d been going to cosmetology school in downtown Mobile. She’d even worn her best dress- the one with the fewest sewing repairs.  
Their father had gone out drinking with his friends that afternoon, probably wouldn’t be back for a couple days if he hooked up with some barfly.  
For the best. It was just the three of them- enjoying a day out without having to worry about flying plates or pounding fists.  
  
His mother had smelled as sweet as cotton candy, he recalled, because when he leaned in to kiss her cheek it’d reminded him of the country fair that summer. Lucy Tully’s big ebony eyes, the ones she’d passed down to her sons, they crinkled so much from smiling!  
“I love you, boys,” she whispered to them as they ate. "I'll love you forever."  
  
Savoring the moment, she memorized every angle of her sons’ faces as if there might not be any other days like this.  
None of them knew it yet, but for Tommy, well that'd be his last birthday. Less than a year later, he’d be found dead and Ron’s mother’s would bury her heart right there with him. She’d then fade into the background and go through the motions, a hollow husk of what had already been a broken woman.  
Ron would grow up too quickly for his own good and the rest… would be history.  
Sometimes thinking back on it, he thought he never had a chance.  
  
“Y’all are the best thing that ever happened to me,” Lucy said with shiny eyes that day. Lips covered in whip cream and syrup, Tommy had grinned back.  
“We love you, too, mama," they said in unison.  
  
Three spoons, zero burdens for a handful of hours.  
One last afternoon of peace. What a small, special joy a banana boat could be.  
  
_  
  
_Jesus._ Tully blinks away unbidden tears. _Fuck._  
He hasn’t been to an ice cream parlor in over 25 years, and he’s thought about his family even less. The last thing he was expecting today was to take a trip down fucking memory lane.  
  
“Ron, you with us?”  
Juice pushes the dish equidistant to all three of them.  
  
Three bright blue spoons. One banana boat.  
Tully looks down through a misty fog.  
“Yeah, baby. I’m here.”  
  
Smurf sprinkles Diego insisted on having dot the whipped cream, and he’s two helpings in already.  
“Diego, slow down you’re gonna get brain freeze!”  
The boy sports a chocolate syrup Zorro mustache- he’s been grinning from ear to ear for the past 5 minutes. Ron turns to Juice, shaking his head in amusement. Juice squeezes his hand and regards him with a certain knowing serenity.  
_It’s gonna be okay, papì.  
  
_Wide-eyed, their son plunges another spoonful and when he realizes it’s too much, he giggles, a hand clasped over his mouth. After a second, Ron throws him a reassuring glance.  
“Is the ice cream good, Diego?”  
The boy nods enthusiastically, bouncing a bit in his seat.  
“It’s really good, papa,” he mumbles.  
  
His swinging feet, those sparkling eyes- Diego is the picture of bliss and innocence. There’s a part of Tully that winds up on itself- an urge to reach out and just smother him between his enormous arms. Can he? Keep him like this forever? Happy and unaware of the horrors that really surround him?  
He knows he won’t be able to for much longer, but until it’s in his power- this is what Ron has vowed. To give this boy the most peaceful childhood he can have. The one he never got.  
  
Tully casts a quick glance around the shop while Juice wipes the excess topping from Diego’s lips.  
The place is practically empty. It’s lunchtime but there aren’t any children since it’s a school day; the only reason they’re here is because of the incident.  
Wrenching himself from his ridiculous preoccupation with the outside world, Ron collects a bit of vanilla on his spoon. He’s not being weird- not purposely at least. It’s just that he’s no longer used to seeing people.  
It’s usually Juice who does the runs for groceries and household supplies. Ron keeps the house, cooks. Helps Diego with his homework and such.  
Ron isn’t always comfortable in his own skin. What happened earlier has made him feel that much more self-conscious.  
When the only other patron, an elderly man sucking milk shake dregs through a straw, stares at him, he pulls up his collar and turns away.

_  
  
A knife chopping strawberries and the tap of the scoop against the side of the sink wake them to the task at hand.  
“Baby, I think we should talk to him about today,” Juice whispers.  
Ron nods, cleaning his spoon with a lick and resting it on his perfectly folded napkin.  
  
Juice crosses his hands in front of him and leans in.  
“Papito, we need to talk to you about what happened at school today, okay?”  
  
Concentrated on getting all the sprinkles on his whip cream cloud, Diego tilts his head.  
“Yes, Daddy.”  
Ron’s brow creases. “Why did you draw that symbol on your hand, sweetheart?”  
  
“Because of you, Papa. You have one on your hand,” Diego answers matter-of-factly, pointing to it.  
Avoiding the obvious blush of shame on Tully’s face, Juice continues.  
“So you wanted to be like Papa?”  
“Yes! I want to be big and strong like Papa. Papa’s a superhero!” Arms raised over his head, Diego motions flying.  
  
Something tightens in both their chests, an uneasy feeling turning over their stomachs.  
“Oh, Papa’s a superhero? Well, what’s Daddy, then? Come on, I’m big and strong, too… “ Making light of it, Juice flexes a bicep and Diego laughs.  
“Yes, Daddy, but not like Papa!”  
  
Ron’s reaching fingers cover his son’s, and Diego meets his gaze, onyx on onyx.  
“Honey… you remember when we told you the story about where Daddy and I met?”  
“Yes…” he acknowledges, a small bit of fruit disappearing in his mouth.  
  
“We met in the place where they put people sometimes, when they do bad things or make mistakes.”  
_How the hell do you explain Stockton prison to a 7-year-old?_  
“Yes papa I remember.”  
“Well, not everyone in that place is very nice. Some people there want to hurt you, because really they’re very scared of being hurt themselves. Do you understand this?”  
“Yes…”  
This couldn’t be a more delicate matter- and Juice looks over at Ron proudly. He’s doing such a good job.  
  
“Well, Diego, sometimes good people have to make themselves look very scary so the other people won’t hurt them. This is why I have so many tattoos. What I’m going to tell you now is very important, so please pay attention.”  
Diego stops, because he’s an obedient boy. He wipes his face and exhales, studying his parents with a curious intensity.  
  
“The symbol you drew on your hand used to be a beautiful symbol. An ancient one, like the Roman and Greek myths Papa reads you. It meant power and good luck. But then some terrible and cruel men used it as a symbol for a war.”  
The boy blinks.  
“Millions of people were killed, Diego, by these men. People who were Jewish, like Mrs. Lieberman. People who lived in Poland like Mr. Koza, even their own people, German people.”  
“Like Ms. Schiller?” he asks. “Her abuela came from Dusseldorf.”  
“You really like to say Dusseldorf,” Ron comments, momentarily light-hearted.  
Since Diego had recently learned about where all his teachers’ families had come from, the Schiller’s home town became his favorite.  
  
“What we’re trying to make you understand is I had to put these scary, bad symbols on my body so people wouldn’t hurt me. But I didn’t believe in them. I’m not a bad person who hates others.”

Intending to underline its importance, Juice moves to sit next to his son. He wraps a protective arm around him and kisses the top of his head.  
“Diego, you can’t draw on yourself again. Nothing you see on me or Papa especially. We’re not proud of what we had to do, but we’re safe now because of it. I had to come home to you, papito. Whatever it took.”  
Placing a palm over his son’s entire hand, Ron exhales and shakes his forearm a bit. “And when I fell in love with your Daddy, sweetheart, I wanted to be a part of your life, too. It was important we both survive, so we could love you and protect you.”  
  
They’re not sure if the silent sadness of his face means he’s understood, but Tully knows how smart Diego is. He’s fairly certain the message has sunk in.  
“When you’re much older, you can get a tattoo. Something important to you that doesn’t hurt other people, okay?”  
  
He listens with undisguised attention, and it’s a relief for them both.  
“Yes Papa. Yes, Daddy. I understand. I don’t want to be a bad person.”  
Letting his gaze arch slowly back and forth between his men, his eyes gloss over in emotion.  
“You’re a very kind and caring boy, Diego. You’re a good boy and we’re so proud of you. Papa and I, we love you so much.”  
  
Juice envelopes his small frame in his and rests his cheek on the top of Diego’s head. Ron’s throat tightens.  
“I love you, too,” their son replies.  
  
Tully only half-listens to the cash register opening and closing in the back. He’s busy struggling with his conscience.  
“You know what? Papa will take responsibility for his actions.”  
Looking Juice in the eyes, he declares, “I’m going to make an appointment at a doctor to at least remove the tattoos on my hands. It’s going to hurt, but it’s the right thing to do, so people don’t get the wrong idea.”  
“You don’t have to, papì. I know who you really are-“  
“No Juice,” he interjects with a raised hand. “It’s the right thing to do.”  
  
The door jingles as a new customer enters. Juice is about to open his mouth when his phone vibrates in his pocket.  
Upon checking, it’s not a number he knows.  
“Papì, give me a minute?”  
Making a slight gesture with his left hand, Tully busies himself with clean-up. “Go ahead, baby.”  
  
Picking up when’s he’s stepped outside, with some curiosity he greets the caller.  
“Hello?  
_  
  
Standing at the foot of their bed, Tig Trager is folding his t-shirts into a yawning suitcase. Pouty lips stretch into a beaming smile when he hears Juice’s voice.  
“Juiiiice! You son of a bitch.”

“Tig?” Juice asks incredulously, heart leaping into his throat.  
“The one and only. How you doing, brother?”  
_Brother._ Jesus Juice thought he’d never hear that again. Not from anyone in his MC. Now twice in so short a time?  
  
“I’m good. Real good. Just getting some ice cream with my kid.”  
The laugh that follows is soft, almost girlish. “Yeah yeah, Chibs told me you’ve got a son now. Congrats.”  
Chibs. He pushes him out of his mind. Tempted to ask how he’s doing- but he can imagine how he’s doing after Juice broke his heart, so he refrains.  
“Thanks. He’s a great kid, 7 years old. Named Diego.”  
“Diego,” Tig rubs his chin. “Fine name. Maybe I can meet him sometime soon.”  
  
“Really?” Juice breathes off relief. “When?”  
“Chibs told me he cleared it with you? Me and the Mrs. are going up to the lakes. I’m driving past your place on the county road. Mind if we pop in? We can all have dinner? I’d love to see ya again, Juicy. We’ve all missed you around here. Charming just isn’t the same without you.”  
  
Christ. Charming. Not one but two lifetimes ago, some would say. After all the shit that went down Charming isn't the same for anyone.   
“I- I’ve missed you, too. Yeah, of course. Of course. When do you think you’ll be here?”  
  
Instinctively, he looks at his watch. “Probably late afternoon tomorrow. That sound good?”  
He must tell Ron, even though Juice knows he doesn’t _have to_ clear it with him. Perhaps as long as it’s not Chibs, Ron won’t mind a couple dinner guests.  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Perfect.”  
“All right then, it’s a date.”  
  
“Alexander…” Venus’ voice booms from the hallway.  
“Hold on, Juice.”  
Tig holds the phone to his palm, his sapphire eyes landing lovingly on his wife. “Yes baby?”  
“Would you be a doll and get my big suitcase from the crawlspace, please? I would be much obliged.”  
  
His features contort a second, and even if he knows better than to argue, it slips out.  
“Venus, baby, we’re going away for 4 days-to _TAHOE_.“  
  
A shocked intake of breath, and one hand hooks on her hip. Yup, he put his foot in his mouth again.  
“Alexander, are you implying you would have me wear _the same dress twice_ during our vacation?”  
Oh, Christ.  
“No my love. Never would I imply that. I’ll be right there, I’m just finishing up with Juice.”  
  
Tig’s voice is back, close to the speaker.  
“Aw God. Don’t ever get married, kid,” Tig says loud enough for Juice to hear. A gurgle of laughter escapes them both.  
“Too late,” Juice confesses.  
  
“Oh shit oh shit you’re right! Jesus, how could I forget? You and… _Tully_.” The tone isn’t judgmental, but Juice always gets worked up about mentioning it.  
“Yeah, Tig. 5 years now. I’ll explain when I see you.”  
  
A pair of jeans is stacked on top of a nice pair of slacks and Tig drops two rolled up socks inside, which land near.  
“Hey- no need to explain. If he makes you happy, kid, that’s all I care about. He treats you right?”  
Juice tries to stop the beaming smile, the rush of blood to his cheeks... but he can't. Peering into the shop through the window, he watches Ron helping Diego put on his jacket.  
“Yeah, he treats us right.”  
  
“Well that’s it then.” Straightening his back, Tig looks over to a scowling Venus whose arms are now crossed over her ample bosom.  
“Alexander… “  
“Shit, I better go help Venus, she looks she’s gonna make me remember why I carry a gun. Listen we’ve got a 3-hr drive more or less but I’m stopping in Sacramento for some club business. So I figure we should get to yours about 4 pm?”  
  
“Awesome. Don’t let me keep you. I can’t wait to see you, Tiggy.”  
A little choked up, Tig nods at his feet. “Me too, brother. Me, too. It’s been too long.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from Love You Forever, by Robert Munsch


	10. Tell Me You Love Me Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nostalgia is an unexpected emotion for Juice these days.

“This is my family. I found it all on my own. It’s little, and broken, but still good. Yeah. Still good.” –Stitch

_  
  
“Hello?”  
Juice gasps. She answered.  
His thinking is too muddled to realize that she doesn’t have his new number. She can’t know it’s him.  
Yet Juice’s grasp on the phone tightens as his hand begins to tremble.  
  
“Is someone there? Hello?”  
Jesus Christ. How long has it been? She sounds exactly the same, he thinks.  
  
Somewhere between a memory and a prayer, Juice finds his courage.  
“Candy?”  
Her nickname barely comes out. In fact, it sounds raspy as it leaves his parched lips.  
  
There’s a brief pause, a sharp intake of breath.  
“Juanito?”  
His name, just as timid, is pulled from her teeth letter by letter.  
“Yeah, Carla. It’s me.”  
He doesn’t see it, but her hand immediately closes over her plump mouth as her dark doe eyes swell with tears.  
“Oh my god… Juan Carlos… we’ve missed you so much.”  
_  
  
She never stopped caring. It takes one broken phrase to realize it.   
Shit. His mind is buzzing. It’s like he’s 10 again. Candy’s kissing him on the top of his head as she moves to go to the fridge. She turns, almost a pirouette. One liquid ballerina movement, reminiscent of her days at the dance academy.  
Then it’s back to making him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  
  
Their mama works yet another double shift at the factory, and it’s Candy’s job to take care of her brother. She may only be 16, but she’s been the woman of the house for 4 years now. Cooking, cleaning, making sure little Juanito does his homework.  
He’s so smart. Especially with video games and computers. Things that have a tangible hold on the world. Things she thinks she’d never be good at because the only passion Carla knows is dance. And how many dancers really put food on the table with that?!  
  
Juice is playing with his Power Rangers, his small body barely covering the plastic-covered kitchen chairs. They’re cheap and from the 70s. Bought at the furniture store down the block, the one Signor Rivera runs with “special credit” if you’re Puerto Rican like him. So yeah, they got shitty furniture on 3-year debt - those crooked chairs that make that “whoosh” sound when you lower yourself onto the cushion. The same ones that stick to your bare legs in summer, leaving red welts like grapefruit wedges on the backs of your thighs.  
  
The Blue Ranger fights together with the Red against He-Man. The cracked formica table top is the battleground.  
Of course, these aren’t the _real_ Power Rangers, because the Ortiz’s are poor. These are the ghetto versions: the ones his mom bought at the bodegita. They make them to _almost_ look like the authentic kind, but not enough to get sued.  
_Los Powers._ Just like Candy’s dolls that their mother used to call the “Boricua Barbie.” Hispanic- and way more affordable.  
  
When Candy puts the plate in front of Juice, perfect triangles with the crusts cut off positioned into a pinwheel, he looks up at her, his round, magnetic eyes full of pure devotion.  
His gaze catches on her candy necklace, her inseparable accessory since she was 7 (and that inevitably gave her the moniker).  
  
“Eat up, Juanito. Dinner’s not for another four hours, I don’t want you going hungry.”  
Her warm hands close over his bony shoulders and squeeze gently. She smiles down at him as if he were hers.  
Most teens her age would be angry at having to care for their younger siblings- most teens with a Mom and a Dad and two incomes, that is. Most teens who might have made it to Juilliard for dance might be pissed, too.  
Oh well- it wasn’t in the Ortiz genes to be lucky- it wasn’t their lot in life to have privilege, either.  
  
Tiny hands lift a slice to his mouth, the first bite the perfect mix of sweet and salty.  
“Thanks, Candy,” he mumbles, peanut butter and Wonder bread sticking to the roof of his mouth.  
  
He’s still so tiny, she muses. It makes a knot form in her throat.  
_If I don’t protect him, no one will. This neighborhood just ends up eating everyone alive._  
  
“No problem, papito.”  
Something makes her stop. A heaviness in her chest, perhaps the thought she still might be able to save him from a life on the streets.  
She adds an “I love you” as an afterthought.  
“I love you, too, Candy,” he answers enthusiastically.  
He does. Juice can’t imagine his life without his sister.  
_  
  
“Juan, you there?”  
Juice shakes it off. The feeling of nostalgia- and the guilt. The latter is less resistant to disappearance.  
“Yeah Candy. I’m here. Sorry, I just… “  
Candy fumbles with the pack of Merits in front of her. It drops to her feet, and her quaky fingers fish it back up.  
“Little brother, we thought we’d never-“  
She wipes under her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling. Her lips purse as she lights the cigarette with a long drag of air.  
Jesus Christ.  
  
“I know. I’m sorry. I know I was the one who told you to stop writing. It was just- inside it was so fucking hard, Cand. So hard. I didn’t want to involve you in all that shit. Especially since you’d just had the second baby.”  
Juice needs little to send that horror movie of his Stockton stint projecting into his mind.  
Candy nods to no one, her long ponytail swinging. “I know, hon. I know. I did what I could- I tried to at least send you money sometimes. But it was hard, papito. Knowing the life you’d led had put you inside again. We didn't know if you'd ever get out alive.”  
  
A melancholy frown flits across his features. He feels like a piece of shit. Was it the worry over his sentence that killed his mother?  
  
“I know, Carla. I appreciated it so much. I’m so fucking sorry it took so long to pay you back.”  
Juice shoves paranoia aside. Carla's arm reaches out, ash falling to the floor.  
  
“Baby bro, I never wanted that money back. But the accounts you set up for the boys, for college _\- yo no puedo_ -“ _I can't._   
  
If he could meet her gaze right now, it would be with the love of combat--- for life. For love. For _family_. It's something they both know because they were raised into it.   
  
“Candy- it was nothing. Really, I wish I could do more.”  
“Still, thank you,” she replies, smoke drifting weakly from the side of her mouth.  
He rubs his knuckles into the lids of his closed eyes, making sparks fly behind them. How much longer will they have to carry this burden?  
What he's been through, that was on him. But it’s nothing to what his sister had to give up for him.   
  
The moisture flowing down Juice’s cheeks moments later is a tribute from years of pain and regret.  
“I never thanked you for raising me, ‘nita. You gave up dance- your future. For _me_. Shit. And how did I repay you?"   
He feels like folding in on himself now. He never fucking amounted to anything and he didn’t ruin just his life, he ruined Carla’s, too.  
  
“Hermanito-“ she tries to console him, to say something which might make sense but yet finishes in being inexcusable on his end… and so he stops her.  
“No Carla. I know I fucked up big time, but if nothing else, know that you taught me what it meant to be a good parent. It wasn't all in vain."   
  
She tucks a long, slim dancer’s leg under her and smiles softly. She's imagined him in father-son situations a million times. She has no doubt he's given this his all.  
“The past is the… past. You know how it was in Puerto Rican families. And I’d do it all over again if it meant you had a chance to be happy, Juanito. You’re happy, right?”  
“I am now,” he answers without hesitation. Any other sentiment would be sacrilegious.   
  
“Then that’s all I need. I’m glad. How’s my nephew? I haven’t heard any more since his birth announcement.”  
The proud father comes out in Juice in that moment. His chest puffs out and he’s half-giggling, voice coated in sheer happiness.  
  
“He’s so smart, Candy. Ron reads to him every day and I try to teach him tech stuff. He’s such an amazing boy.”  
Candy settles into the cushions of her sofa. Hearing the change in tone in Juice’s voice when he talks about his family just makes her heart swell.  
“I’m so glad.” She throws it out there. It's time. “Maybe he can meet his cousins one day. And his Auntie.”  
  
Can she read my mind? He thinks.  
“That’s why I’m calling," he interjects. "What if I pay you all to come out in summer? Would you? I really want you to meet everyone.”  
Candy laughs so sweetly, so lightly- it’s almost musical. Her spirits are soaring and it relieves Juice to hear.  
“I guess I could ask work for a few days. Have my friend Silvia cover for me.”  
“Please. It would mean the world to me,” he begs.  
“Okay, hermanito. Okay,” she beams.  
  
Hermanito. Little brother. The real shit this time. _The blood shit_. Nothing can knock this euphoria down.   
“Juan?” she whispers.   
“Yeah?”  
“Why d’you call today of all days? I mean shit, I’m ecstatic to hear from you… but why wait so long?”  
  
It’s a tough question. She's right in asking. Maybe it’s been this week. The shit with Chibs, and now Tig about to come. His MC past and all that other BS coming to the surface again.  
There has to be a reason.  
  
“I don’t know, sis. I was always left to ponder. How many doors I’d left opened or closed or fucking barricaded? You know? How much suffering I’d caused for nothing. For a past which cannot be changed. Isn’t worth trying to start over with those I can?"   
Carla smiles faintly. He _is_ right. Why let the past poison the present? Over what? Things that might have been, but might have never worked out?  
  
“I think so, brother. I think so.”  
If ghosts could talk-  
  
“Lately my past has come back to visit me, Carla. I figured it was a goddamn sign from the universe.”  
Sign or not, they're here. That's all that matters.  
“I’m glad you reached out.”  
  
It all still seems unreal- to her and to Juice. Yet hearing each other’s voices- settling their souls into the sensation of things being OKAY between them no matter how much shit has floated under the bridge-  
  
“Me too, Carla. All this really boils down to people standing on unsteady stilts in order to see over the edge of things, wondering if they should leap without looking or stay put. Too often they decide to stay put, or worse yet, keep quiet. And then years pass. Yada Yada Yada. I didn’t want that to be us, Candy.”  
  
Irrational joy takes over, and she’s about to cry again. “I always loved you, papito. I still do.”  
“Me too, Carla. More than you know."  
God, if he could give her a better life he'd do it in an instant. But he vows to help as much as he can.  
"I always kind of wished you and mama had taught me some Spanish, you know? Might be useful now for Diego, and would have really come in handy in my past life.”  
  
Unraveling her pony tail, Carla shakes out her long, wavy hair. She rakes her fingers through it and rubs into her scalp.  
“There’s time for that Juanito. I’d be happy to give you and Diego Spanish lessons.”  
The rest of her thought is a sigh.   
  
A melting sweetness seizes Juice’s chest.  
”I’m grateful. To have you back.”  
“Me too,” she murmurs. “Me too. So I’ll wait to hear from you about visiting, Juan?”  
Clutching the phone to his breast, he inhales deeply. When he brings it back up to his face, there's renewed hope there.   
“Yeah, ‘nita. I’ll send you all the details soon.”  
  
Unbidden memories cross the phone line between them, both bubbling with unconcealed affection for each other.  
“Te quiero mucho, Juan,” his sister professes.  
“That much I understand, Candy,” Juice says gaily. “I love you, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has basically taken over- I don't decide much anymore. :)   
> Allow me a moment of self-congratulation. I am very proud because I’m actually not stressed about updating here at all. I’m notoriously horrible at updating but all things considered I am doing my all here to keep it current.   
> It’s a pleasure, I’m constantly getting new ideas for these chapters. The normal level of angst that accompanies me on nearly all my posting journeys seems nonexistent in this fic and I think it’s because I love all these characters so much - but above all it’s also you my readers who make this a safe place to express my ideas. I thank you for that. I feel blessed. 
> 
> As for the fic, opener from “Lilo and Stitch”  
> I wrote the flashback from experience- I was one of those dirt poor families in Chicago’s ghetto - living in a crap apartment with used furniture and above all I played with knock-off toys.  
> I knew it'd prove useful one day. :)   
> Please enjoy and thank you for sticking with this fic!


	11. Oh, the Places You'll Go!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Juice met Tully in Stockton.

“Keep him safe. No matter what the cost. He’ll do favors for you, whatever the MC and the AB decide on. But nobody touches a hair on the lad. Not a hair. Ye put him in a cell with ye if necessary. He’s not to be harmed _in any way_.”  
_  
  
“Welcome to your new home, Ortiz.”  
  
What the fuck? Juice glances inside the cell. The fucking AB shot caller sits on the lower bunk, reading a book.  
“You’re putting me in with RON TULLY?”  
Tully doesn’t even bat an eyelash. Hasn’t looked up yet. He’s the picture of indifference.  
  
This isn’t Juice’s first rodeo, so it’s obvious to him that something is off. He’s the only “brown” in D block. Is this one last “fuck you” from Jax? His last day on earth?  
  
“Officer… this is D block.”  
Features contorted in fake astonishment, the guard crosses his arms over his barrel chest.   
“Well, thank you for telling me that, Ortiz. Shit. I must have made a mistake when I recited my alphabet this morning.”  
Shaking his head, feebly trying to throw off an irrational feeling of panic, Juice points around him.  
“Sir, I’m not trying to be an ass. But look! D block is the AB block. Is Stockton prison set on getting me killed? I was in the Sons. I’m Puerto Rican. I’m the right shade of I don’t belong here.”  
  
Hill hands him the transfer papers, staring him down. “And I give a shit because? The assignment says D block, Cell 12. Tier 1. This is D block, Cell 12-“  
“Yeah, Tier 1. I get it.”  
It’s useless for Juice to argue. The club must be behind this. Payback for his betrayal.  
“Get your ass in the cell, Ortiz, or do you want to start today with a shot?”  
Hill’s voice is soaked in impatience. Okay, he’s being serious now.  
“No sir.“  
  
Tully can’t read over the stink of paranoia. Jesus Christ, is this kid gonna talk this much? He should ask Telford for more money.  
Ron sighs, slowly closes the book and replaces it on the small table. Swinging his legs off the bed, he puts himself in the center of the room.  
  
“Juan Carlos, no mistake has been made,” he says to the kid’s wide back. “Now would you kindly step inside the cell and shut up so I can finish my chapter?”  
There’s no hostility in the tone. In fact, now that he’s paying attention to his surroundings, Juice notices that all the Nazis are at the bars, but no one is jeering. What the hell is going on?!  
  
Juice turns on his heel, takes three steps, and comes face to face with his new cellie. (Well, at least until he gets killed).   
Ron rakes his gaze over him. Stops in his tracks. Damn. THIS is Juice?  
Okay. He could have fared worse. Not that Ron is one who obsesses over emotions. Having someone never mattered. His rank and influence got him a solitary cell in a block with overcrowding, so… but a quick survey leaves Tully with the sensation that he could have definitely fared worse.  
  
Ortiz looks clean. The crazy that some inmates have in their eyes- no hint of that. And fine- Tully will admit it to himself… he wasn’t exactly lucky in the romance department, especially since he’s spent the greater part of his adult years in and out of prison. Still, he _may_ have a thing for darker men, (and the irony of his being the head of AB is not lost on him).  
Ortiz is very fit. Handsome. Nice eye candy. Cellmate lotto could have definitely gone worse.  
  
The rattle of the door closing behind him makes Juice jump a bit. Kit pressed to his chest, the cloak of confusion over his face is still blinding.  
Ron guesses it’s time to make introductions, unless they want to stand there staring at each other some more.  
“Ron Tully. But I guess my reputation precedes me.”  
“Yeah,” Juice replies shyly.  
“Anyway, I already know your name, Juan Carlos. I want to assure you, this placement is very much planned, so don’t overthink it.”  
  
Juice wags his head. “Juice. You can call me Juice.”  
“Okay, Juice.”  
Tully’s smile is not so much forced as it is simply… tense.  
“If you don’t mind the top bunk. I’m already rather settled.”  
  
Juice watches him intently. He wonders if it’s going to happen here.  
“Are you the one Jax asked? Are you going to kill me?”  
  
Tully’s expression withers. He’s held to a promise- but a promise of anonymity. He’d be a sadist to make this boy think he’s on death row.  
“You have friends on the outside you have procured your safety, Juice. Jax Teller has removed the hit. No one’s going to kill you. You will not be harmed.”  
The news is like an arctic bath, chilling him to the marrow.  
“Seriously?”  
“Seriously.”  
  
Leaning against the poster of the beds, Ron lets his face settle. “Your punishment for the crime, however, is that you spend your time here in Stockton as my cellmate. And we ask a few favors from you now and then. The AB I mean.”  
“I’m not going to sleep with you.” It’s a reflex reply. This is prison, after all.  
  
"I don't think the AB wants to sleep with you." Tully’s laugh is rich, making his shoulders shake. He crosses the small space and comes to a couple inches from Juice’s face.  
  
Jesus, the kid's got kind eyes. Sad, almost like a calf’s.  
Ron inhales, nostrils flaring. He smells soap, and something musky. Must be Juice’s natural scent.  
Good. They won’t have hygiene issues in here.  
  
Turning his back to the cage, so no one can read his lips, he leans in. Juice’s skin prickles from the warmth emanating from his nearness.  
“I wouldn’t dream of abusing you, sweetheart. But while everyone knows you’re untouchable, they think you’re untouchable _because now you’re mine._ So when that sheet goes up in an hour, we’re both gonna put on some Oscar-worthy performances. Got it? If you want to make it out of here in one piece, never ever betray your cover. And that means pretending we fuck.”  
  
  
As long as it’s pretending, Juice can make his peace with that.  
All this information is hitting him at once. He’s got so many questions! But before he can ask anything, Tully grabs his kit and throws it on the top bunk.  
“That’s your shelf. Your locker is under my bunk, right side. Your desk where you can keep your things. All I ask is that you maintain tidiness and order. I don’t like clutter.”  
  
Juice chuckles to himself. Jesus, he doesn’t know me yet, he thinks to himself.  
With a quiet humor coloring his tone, Juice replies. “I don’t think you need to worry. I have a need for… order and cleanliness myself. That won’t ever be an issue, Ron.”  
  
Ron.  
Tully’s glad Juice is relaxing enough to use his first name.  
“That’s very good news. I’ll do my best to make this as painless as possible. Who knows, we might even become friends?”  
Juice eases into a smile. “Trust me. Stranger things have happened. Why not?”  
  
Pulling his locker from under the bed, Tully opens it. Inside are perfect rows of snacks, ramen, and hygiene products. He takes out a chicken ramen and a small bath gel.  
Extending his hand, he offers them to Juice, who stares at the items like he’s never seen generosity before.  
  
“You’re looking a little thin. Even if not the best sustenance in the world, ramen gets us through the meatloaf days.”  
“Ugh, thank you,” Juice stammers.  
“The shower gel is not because you stink. You actually smell very nice.”  
  
A blush rises in Tully’s pale cheeks. The first time in a long time that he’s got a flutter in his stomach. What the hell?  
Juice bites into his lip, uncomfortable in front of this unexpected compliment.  
“The prison issued soap will dry out your skin too much. That should tide you over until your commissary gets credited. I also have shampoo but I thought since your head is shaved… “  
  
A strange surge of affection grips his insides.  
“Thank you, Ron. I appreciate it.”  
“Don’t mention it.”  
  
Tully shifts in place to return to his reading but then has an afterthought.  
“One more thing. Let me give you a few tips, Juan Carlos.”  
  
Brow furrowing, Juice places the ramen and the shower gel on his shelf. “I’ve been to prison before, Ron.”  
“I know. But it’s kind of a rite of passage in here. Humor me.”  
“Okay.”  
  
He tosses himself against the wall, perching one leg up as a support. He gives Tully his full attention.   
“You never let anyone see you cry. Because you’ll want to. On those days do it at lights out, into your pillow. Make sure it’s quiet, no sniffling. And if someone asks what you’re in for, don’t answer. At the worst, tell this lot you killed somebody. They respect murderers.”  
  
_I have killed people. That would be the painful truth._ Pausing for a moment’s reflection, Juice clears his throat. This Tully is not at all who he expected.  
“Thanks. I’ll keep all that in mind.”  
“Sure thing.”  
  
An hour later, Tully gives him the signal, and the sheet goes up for the first time.  
There’s two cat calls from the cells near, but everyone’s so terrified of Tully the noise soon breaks.  
  
Juice joins him in his bunk, but they only sit next to each other. Tully moans, peppering expletives here and there as he times their acting to what is normally a prison “quickie.”  
His lover protests initially, as expected, but then grunts in the appropriate places. The scene by its end is rather comical and both of them end up with smirks on their faces.  
  
Tully removes the makeshift curtain 8 minutes later, lacing the pants he’s hiked down a second before to add realism.  
Juice gargles at the sink, making sure some of the racists across the way see.  
  
So this is how it’s gonna go, he thinks. It could have been worse.  
He could have been killed today.  
_

**14 months later.  
  
**The sheet has been up for a while. Maybe too long. Any longer, actually, and the guards will notice and they’ll both get shots, influence or not.  
  
Slick with perspiration, Juice is splayed open, Tully’s aching sex tunneling inside him.  
“Fuck, Ron… I’m close… “ he whispers. “Don’t stop, papì.”  
  
Tully’s about to answer “who’s stopping?!” but the climax surging through him leaves him a whimpering mess as he collapses against Juice’s back.  
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he gasps. “Fuck.”  
  
Pulse pounding, the sound of slick smacking continues for three more tugs and then Juice’s fingers coat in wetness.  
"Christ," he pants.   
When they come apart, Juice covers Ron’s mouth hungrily until their breathing doesn’t settle. The back of his clean hand on his forehead, he brings his cum-coated fingers to Ron’s lips.  
Ron licks over them in hot desire until they’re clean.  
  
Looking over his shoulder, hair tousled, Tully puts his cock away and throws the condom in the toilet.  
“I better get the curtain before we attract Davis over here.”  
“Yeah, papì, yeah.”  
  
Juice takes the bedsheet and yanks it over his nakedness. His arm swings down to get his uniform from the floor.  
Tully comes back, throws the “curtain” on the bunk, and grabs a towel. He wets it and puts a few drops of bath gel on it.  
Rubbing, he makes it suddy.  
  
Reaching under the sheet, he grazes over Juice’s limping cock and grins. Tully passes the cloth over Juice’s sex and pubes, washing him of the come.  
Juice’s face rearranges itself into a loving display.   
  
“What are you laughing about, sweetheart?”  
  
A chest-deflating exhale empties Juice's lungs. “I was just thinking of my first months here. How we pretended to do this so we wouldn’t betray our covers.”  
Chuckling, Ron nods. “Yeah, I remember. You were pretty convincing even then.”  
Threading his fingers with Ron’s, he gently squeezes them.   
  
“I guess I was. But to be honest, I kind of prefer the real thing, don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating. I was writing a Mayans/Sons fic and then another Sons fic. :) Both are up if you feel like reading away some of this quarantine.  
> <3 Stay safe everyone
> 
> Title: Oh, the Places You'll Go! by Dr. Suess


	12. The Tiger Who Came to Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tig and Venus come to visit- part one.

A car door slamming sends Juice to the window. He pulls the curtain with a hooked finger, swallowing his anxiousness down along with the Coke in his hand.  
Diego looks up from his place on the sofa, a coloring book open on his lap.  
“Is that Uncle Tiggy, Daddy?” he asks, dropping the green crayon he's had poised to the paper.  
  
His father nods, a sense of bittersweet nostalgia washing over him when Tig and Venus come into view. It’s like all those years rewind in front of his eyes- the club, Jax, Charming… Chibs.  
Christ, he doesn’t want the tears to rise, so he squeezes his lids together a second and takes a deep breath.   
“That’s them, Diego.”  
Directing his voice towards the kitchen, he informs Ron, “They’re here, babe.”  
  
Tully peeks around the doorframe, a black apron tied around his waist. He dries his hands on a dishtowel and undoes the bow on his lower back. He's the picture of domesticity and Juice loves it.  
“Why don’t you meet them on the walkway, I’ll just put dinner on a low flame and then we’ll be out.”  
“Okay. See you out there.”  
  
As soon as he steps onto the porch, Juice’s face is bathed with the slanting amber light of late afternoon. It’s a beautiful day, warmer than it should be for spring. They thought well to eat out on the patio.   
  
“Hey there,” Juice waves, and then immediately wonders why he’s doing it. This isn’t a parade, he tells himself.  
Juice lets his hand drop to his side.  
  
Tig pops out from behind the open trunk, and as soon as their eyes meet, he puts on a dazzling grin.  
“JUICY!”  
He runs down the drive, arms open. Juice springs forward, heart racing. When they’re close enough to touch, Tig grabs him by the waist and swings him around.  
“Oh my god, Juicy!” Tig exclaims through gritted teeth. “I missed you, brother.”  
  
Hearing the word _brother_ again, seeing Tig so elated to be here, it’s an incredible feeling for him. It makes Juice feel good, knowing he didn’t fuck _everything_ up.  
“Hey Tig,” Juice giggles, pulling him into a bear hug. “Man, do you ever age?”  
There’s maybe a little more salt in his goatee, but that’s about it. Tig looks amazing.   
  
“Save some for the rest of us, Alexander,” Venus quips. Chuckling as they break, Tig pats Juice on the back. Venus approaches, slowly and with long deliberate strides, as if she were working a runway.  
“I think you remember Venus, Juice.”  
“Who could forget her?” he exhales.   
  
Venus looks angelic. She’s squeezed into a stunning blue dress – the same shade as Tig’s eyes, and her face is alive with affection and delight.  
“Juan Carlos, you are a sight for sore eyes.” Cupping his chin tenderly in her warm hand, her painted lips descend onto Juice’s, featherlike.  
“That’s the Venus I remember,” Juice breathes a second later, rubbing the lipstick from his lips with his thumb.  
“I’m all about consistency, sugar pie,” she says after a slight pause. "Being memorable takes a lot of work."   
  
“I missed you guys,” Juice grins. He feels lighter- happy. A sense of familiarity quiets the air.   
Pointing to the house, he invites them back. “Come on, there are two people I want you to meet. Please follow me.”  
  
The clutch purse under her arm, Venus' long lacquered finger points to the car. “Alexander and I have brought some gifts. We’ll get them later if that’s all right.”  
“Sure thing.”  
  
The screen door swings open, the hinges squeaking. Diego tramps out, Tully in tow.  
“That’s them,” Juice says, chest puffed out.  
  
Diego takes the steps with hops. Tully makes it down, still holding his son's hand, and plants himself on Juice’s left.  
“Tig, Venus- this is my husband Ron and our son, Diego. Say hi to your Uncle Tiggy and Aunt Venus, Diego.”  
  
Venus slinks down to make herself his height, shaking his tiny hand. Tig does a fist bump with him.  
“Well hi there, sugar. You know you are the spitting image of your Daddy?”  
Tig nods, mouthing “It’s true.”  
“Hi Aunt Venus. Hi Uncle Tiggy.” Diego looks to his shoes and back, blushing. "Welcome to our home."   
  
"I told him to say that," Juice whispers.   
There are a few expressions fathers get that are impossible not to read. Juice loves this child with everything he is. Venus recognizes that, it makes her heart wrench just a bit.  
“Juan Carlos, you have the sweetest child. Reminds me of my- “ her eyes mist over, and in an effort to push the pain away she leans back slightly and rises once more. To divert focus elsewhere, she ruffles Diego’s hair.   
Tig jumps in. He knows how much Venus loves her son, and they haven't talked in a while. These moments are hard on her.  
“You’ve got a beautiful kid, man,” Tig gives Juice a peck on the cheek. “Happy for ya.”  
  
Ron’s the only one not yet been introduced. Tig inclines his stance, reaching out to greet him.  
“Ron Tully. Welcome.”  
“Alexander, nice to meet ya. You can call me Tig. Juice and I-”  
  
A step between them puts Venus in front of Ron, cutting Tig off. Knowing all about Tig and Venus from Juice, Tully’s not surprised she’s studying him from toes to crown. He meets the smile and the hand offered with it.  
“Venus Van Dam-Trager. Pleased to make your acquaintance, handsome.”  
“Ma’am. If I may…”  
Alabama Ron takes over, and without breaking eye contact, he kisses the top of her hand. Just like men used to do when he was a little boy.  
All his mother’s teachings surface- inching out of that dark place that he only allows out into the light on rare occasions. When it doesn’t hurt him to open those doors and peer inside.  
  
Juice and Tig share a knowing look- Venus eats this Southern charm shit up. Juice is pretty proud of Ron right now.  
“Venus, what an enchanting name for an equally enchanting woman. Ron Tully, much obliged.”  
He lets a bit of drawl stick in between the consonants.  
  
Venus’ perfect eyebrows arch- she caught every lilt. “Do I detect a bit of Southern in you, sir?”  
Ron nods- letting ghosts back in briefly won't kill him. It doesn’t feel awful in this context to revisit that place.  
  
“Yes ma’am. Mobile, Alabama, born and raised.”  
A moth-wing flutter of her hand near her cheek, Venus is flustered. She tilts her head toward Juice, glossed lips agape.  
  
“Gentlemen, did it just get warmer out here? My my my… Alexander failed to mention that Juice’s husband is so genteel- and _generous._ ”  
It’s a glance to Ron’s groin when she says generous that causes the uproar of laughter a moment later.  
Tig shakes his head. “And there, ladies and gentlemen, is my wife.”  
  
A huff of laughter still hangs in Juice’s chest. God, he’s missed this. It’s a temporary jump back into a Rockwell painting that never colored true, but he doesn’t care. Whatever this is, he’ll soak up every minute.  
“Come on in, we’ve got drinks and stuff on the patio, and dinner will be ready in an hour,” he chimes in.  
  
“Ma’am,” Ron offers his arm. Venus hooks hers into the gap, squeezing Tully’s powerful bicep.  
Turning to the men behind her, she winks.  
“Juan Carlos, you better watch out, sugar. I just might have to steal this gorgeous hunk of a man from you.”  
  
“Aw God,” Tig rolls his robin egg eyes in amusement. “She’s incorrigible.”  
  
Tig’s arm encircles Juice, one hand on the small of his back. He nudges him.  
“Hey Juicy-“  
“Yeah?”  
Juice’s watery gaze lifts to Tig’s face.  
“I got something for you- from Chibs. He asked me to keep it on the dl.”  
  
They swivel in place, backs turned to the house. Juice holds his breath- a million thoughts competing in his mind for attention.  
“What is it?”  
Tig’s whiskered lips twitch, passing him an envelope from his front pocket.  
“I don’t know, kid. He just said it was important you read it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed this one. The dinner chapter should be hilarious. 
> 
> Title is the children's book The Tiger Who Came to Tea by Judith Kerr. Tiger of course in honor of Tig.


	13. A Letter to Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juice steals away to read Chibs' letter.

Though muffled from behind his bathroom door, Juice can hear laughter. Ron is doing an impeccable job of entertaining their guests.   
  
When Juice had left the patio, Venus was hanging off of Tully’s massive shoulder, his husband topping off her mint julep. Once she’d discovered his southern roots, Venus insisted he make them the signature drink of the Kentucky Derby.   
(Nevermind Ron’s from Mobile and his white trash upbringing wouldn’t have allowed him to see the Derby even with binoculars, but he’s resourceful and made a very convincing batch).  
  
The resulting giddiness in the group proves the booze is flowing. Tig goes straight for the bourbon, dutifully helping Diego with a puzzle.   
The scene is so touching something breaks a little in Juice. He thought his brothers would never warm to him again, and though most of the recent Redwood patches don’t even know about him or his past, he’s grateful Bobby, Chibs, and Tig harbor no more resentment.   
  
Diego deserves some family- an Aunt and Uncle here in California. And if things go well, Candy and the kids will come in summer, too.   
They don’t have to be alone in all this, not if they don’t want to be. It’s a shame Ron doesn’t have anyone left. Juice would have loved to meet his brother Thomas. Sometimes he wonders if they were alike at all- Ron doesn’t speak of him frequently.   
More like not at all.  
  
Juice has been walking on eggshells since he met Chibs at the park. He doesn’t like hiding things from Ron, but until Juice knows what the hell is in Chibs’ letter, he’ll keep this to himself. He was waiting for the first window he could justify to sneak away- and checking on dinner was the perfect excuse.   
  
Back pressed to the door, his hands twitch involuntarily. He stuffs his right into his pants and fishes the folded envelope he’d secreted earlier out of the gap in his crotch.   
Unsteadily, Juice hooks in the end of his fingernail and when the corner rips; he sticks his tongue out between his lips.   
“Shit,” he dabs the paper cut to it.   
Spotting a pair of scissors, the rest of the crease yawns open a moment later.   
  
Juice extracts the paper and the scent hits him- it smells like Chibs. He must have had the cologne in the oils of his fingers. Or did he spray the sheets like some infatuated teen??  
  
Looking around like he’s stealing a 20 from his Mom’s purse- he puts his nose to the crinkly stationery and inhales.   
The pleasant scent carries like a snowflake on a windy winter’s day. He swears up and down in every compass direction that he won’t allow Chibs back into his mind- but the memories creep back like a morning fog advancing over dewy grass.   
  
He fans the letter open, his fingers icy but his face hot. Taking a deep breath, he scans the closely written lines. Chibs always had impressively small, neat handwriting.   
  
_Dearest Juicy,  
I know you weren’t expecting to hear from me again so soon. Perhaps somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought never.   
I admit it wasn’t easy letting you go. I love you, Juicy. Always have, always will. But I see that I’m not the best thing for you. Not anymore.   
I want you to be happy and what I feel doesn’t matter. Tully, your son… they give you that joy that I only wish I could.   
My only desire now is that you live carefree.   
I do hope I made you happy once. I pray that what we had was true- and that I made your days lighter. Perhaps I can still do the same to make your life a little easier now.   
Let me explain.   
  
When Tiggy told me he would stop by your place, I needed to get this message to you. It was something I was meaning to tell you when we met, but then I was so heartbroken I let it go.   
I’m sorry. I don’t say that to burden you, only to explain the reason you’re getting this now.   
  
I want you to have something, Juicy. From me, to you. To help you and your family have things a little easier- a little bird told me you and Tully pooled together most of your savings to buy your farm. It can’t have been easy after the both of you got out of Stockton.   
I’m alone- and I’ve saved up a lot from all the club’s earnings at Red Woody and the new escort place. I couldn’t spend this money even if I tried.   
  
You’ll find two things enclosed. One is an account I started for Diego’s college. The other is a contribution to your farm’s mortgage. (I have a few friends in the records office- and the bank. That’s why I was up by your parts, trying to put all this in motion).   
I hope you’ll accept this from me- that I’m not overstepping. I owe Ron a huge favor- perhaps one day he’ll tell you about that. This is my way of setting things right between myself, you, and also the club.   
  
If you’d like to reply, I can’t wait to hear from you. Tig said he’d happily bring a message back. If you don’t accept, I also understand. I’d never be upset at you if you’d rip these checks up- I get it.   
Either way, Juicy, know that I’ll never stop caring about you. You’ve always got me, you hear, brother?   
Yours,  
Chibs_

 _  
_If Juice wore reading glasses, he’d be cleaning the steam off of them. His eyes are tear-reddened. Blinking rapidly, aware of the sudden lump in his throat, he tests the corner of the two attached documents.  
One is all the information necessary to access Diego’s college fund: Balance $150,000  
The other is a certified check made out to Juice for $75,000.   
  
To say he’s shocked is an understatement. His heart bounds into his throat.   
How in the world is he going to tell Ron about this? And what favor did Tully do for Chibs?! _  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's Tully's reaction going to be? Is he going to tell Juice Chibs is the reason he's alive- and without his initial intervention they would have never fallen in love?
> 
> Sorry for the short update- something to tide you over until tomorrow's longer chapter. :)
> 
> Title from the children's book "A Letter to Amy" by Ezra Jack Keats


	14. Snake Alley Band

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tragers continue their visit with the Ortiz-Tullys. Diego's exuberance puts him in harm's way.

Dinner was, to say the least, delicious. Ron’s cooking impressed everyone, especially Venus, who has nothing but _even more praise_ for Juice’s husband.   
“You better hold on to this one, Juan Carlos,” she beams, her hand clasped warmly on top of Tully’s. “He cooks, he bakes… he’s devastatingly handsome _and_ charming. Have mercy Lord, what he must be like in the sack!"  
  
Tig shakes his head, covering Diego's ears with his palms. "Venus, there are children present," he fake scolds her.   
"Oh hush!" she waves, "he's going to hear about it soon enough. Children are so precocious nowadays."  
"V, he's SEVEN," Tig replies with a chuckle.   
Juice acknowledges the conversation with a chortle, but only because he heard his name. In reality, he’s much farther away.   
  
Ron rarely blushes, but right now the adoring look Venus is giving him from under those long, batting eyelashes is bringing the color back to his cheeks.   
“Anyway, I think Juice knows just how much of a catch Ron is, sweetheart,” Tig adds. He’s got Diego on his knees, who’s showing him one of his picture books.   
“That’s my favorite one, Uncle Tiggy. It’s called an iguana and its scientific name is iguana iguana,” Diego proudly lifts his chin.   
  
Throwing back his hands, Tig winks at Juice. “Well, isn’t that something!” Tig slants his head, but speaks in a stage whisper so everyone hears. “You should ask your dads to get you one.”   
  
Juice blinks- mind stuck somewhere between his underwear drawer, where he stuffed Chibs’ letter- and making a mental list of what possible favors someone like Ron Tully (well, the Ron Tully Juice first met in Stockton) might have done for his ex.   
  
“Juicy,” baby blues squint. “You with us, brother?”   
“You okay, honey?” Ron asks, having noticed that Juice was unusually quiet during dinner. Not that he’s a huge talker, but there was a stark contrast in enthusiasm between the Tragers arriving and drinks on the patio.   
“Yeah, yeah,” Juice mutters, a weak smile creasing his lips. “Perfect. I’m sorry I just got lost in thought for a sec. What was that about an iguana?”  
“I was saying you should get Diego one, since he loves reptiles so much and that’s his favorite.”   
  
“Yeah Daddy! Can I have one?” their son bounces in his place.   
  
Tully curls his fingers in Diego’s hair. “I think the last thing we need in the house is a dinosaur.”   
With a tummy crunching giggle, Diego hops off Tig’s lap. “It’s not a dinosaur, papa!”  
“Diego, honey, why don’t you go play on your swing set. Let the adults talk. We can discuss getting you a pet later.”   
“Okay, daddy,” he deflates.   
  
At Juice’s suggestion, Diego replaces his reptile book on the table (he always respects his things) and scampers off to the slide.   
Tig takes a sip of his whiskey, indicating Diego with the glass. “You are raising an amazing boy, guys.”  
Nodding in agreement, Venus holds a finger to her lips. “You really are, Juan Carlos. The both of you are doing a brilliant job with that child. What a fine young boy he’s growing into.”   
  
Ron’s expression softening, he and Juice exchange a proud gaze. “Thank you, Venus.”   
“How’s Joey doing, Venus?” Juice asks.   
  
Eyes alight with happiness, she crosses her hands over the top of her knee.   
“Well thank you for asking, Juan Carlos. He is doing so well. So well. Isn’t he, Alexander?”  
“Yeah, he’s doin' great.”   
  
With an air of motherly pride, she shares the latest news. “Can you believe he’s married and has just had a baby girl?”   
Ron straightens. "Congratulations! Although I cannot believe someone as youthful and attractive as yourself is old enough to be a grandmother."   
And there's that Southern charm that makes Venus melt. “You are much too kind, Ronald."  
  
Juice smirks, sharing a knowing look with Tig.   
"Her name is Caroline, the sweetest little thing. When I get my handbag, I’ll show you some pictures," she continues. "They live in Tacoma, and he’s a radiology technician. I’ll… I’ll never be able to thank you all for-“   
  
A solemn glow dapples like sunlight over her. She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, trapped in the awful memory of what _almost_ happened with Alice.   
“If Jackson hadn’t agreed to help, if you all hadn’t… “ Venus sniffles.   
  
Both Juice and Tig bend to her, and Ron lays a protective hand over hers.   
“Hey Venus… we did what any decent person would do.”  
“Yeah baby… Jax wouldn’t have let anything happen to Joey,” Tig assures. “What’s important is that Joey’s okay and thriving now.”  
  
Ron fishes into his pocket and pulls out a linen handkerchief, offering it to Venus. Juice does a double take – since when does Ron carry around a pocket kerchief?!   
“Well thank you, darlin’. Much obliged.”   
Dabbing her eyes, Venus inhales deeply. “Like I said, a genuine Southern gentleman.”  
  
Juice opens his mouth to say something snarky, when Diego attracts their attention by waving his hands in the air.   
“Daddy, Papa… I found a snake!”   
  
Wrapped around a stick that Diego is using to poke it, is what appears from their vantage point to be a rattlesnake.   
Everyone screams something different in unison.   
  
“Oh my God is that a rattler?!” Tig cries as he bolts from his chair.  
Juice’s heart stops- his arms flailing. “Diego STEP AWAY!”  
Venus gasps, flinging herself forward. “Diego honey DON’T TOUCH IT!”  
  
The only one frozen in place is Tully, so pale even his lips have bled their color.   
He’s no longer in California. It’s not Diego he’s looking at…   
  
Tully’s in the outskirts of Mobile. It's summer and he’s 12.   
His baby brother is 10 and is about to get bit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in updating. I was worried about a friend of mine after getting some disturbing news, and then I suffered from a bit of writer's block.   
> I promise there is at least one more chapter coming today here (I won't leave you hanging, promise) and probably one for Storm's Boy as well. I appreciate your patience and understanding.   
> Hope you are all staying safe! Happy Easter if you celebrate, Happy Pagan spring celebration... hope whoever is Jewish had a good Passover.   
> Title from the book of the same name by Elizabeth Nygaard.


	15. Snakes!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mobile, Alabama. Sometime in the 80s. Meet Eugene Gerald Tully, father of the year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning for verbal and physical abuse. A minor character death (Thomas Tully) already pre-announced in a previous chapter.*

The Chevy’s engine is clunky… angry almost as it bumps along the dirt road.  
Not as angry as Ron is, though.  
  
The torture’ll be over soon, he thinks. Ron can see the tent in the distance, and there are about 30 cars parked around it.  
So this is “church.” Who is his father kidding?! Boy, did Ron call bullshit as soon as Eugene told them to get ready.  
Man barely believes in himself, let alone God. What a crock! The only thing Eugene Tully prays to is the bottle and pussy.  
  
This isn’t the first time he has used him and Thomas as “props” to get a woman, especially when their mother is away. Gives himself an alibi to Lucy (who’s normally too terrified to complain, anyway, but he needs to maintain a semblance of propriety).  
So who’d his father meet now?!  
  
“Why we gotta come along, Daddy?” Tommy asks, tugging on his tie. “I thought mama’s gonna be back from nana’s today.”  
It is hotter than the hinges of hell – the sun unrelenting. The very air sizzles.  
Ron’s in the front seat, scowling at his own reflection in the side mirror. He can feel the fabric of his shirt sticking to his back. The ragged, fake leather seat is beading in his leg sweat.  
“Daddy?” Thomas insists.  
  
They’ve got the windows rolled down, but Christ on the Cross there isn’t a breeze to be paid for. The car stinks of sublimated rage and his father’s cologne. What did he bathe in it?  
“You comin’ because I say you comin’, Tommy.”  
  
Eugene Tully spits tobacco juice out of the window, one cracked elbow hanging off the door’s edge. As the spit ball lands on the dusty path, it leaves a black splotch.  
“Now you boys behave while I meet my lady friend, ya hear? Don’t embarrass me.” He’s studying Thomas in the rearview. “That means you, Tommy.”  
  
“You do a brilliant job of that yourself,” Ron mumbles under his breath.  
Oh shit. Tully should know better. Running his mouth has gotten him in trouble _so many times_ …  
  
With one brusque turn of the wheel, the car almost ends up in the ditch. Thrown forward from the unexpected brake, it helps the momentum when Eugene slams his son’s head into the dash.  
For a second, Tully sees colored confetti.  
  
Eugene grabs Ron by the upper arm and twists into the muscle, evil eyes wide. His complexion is mauve, livid with rage.  
“You got somethin’ to say to me, boy?”  
Ron’s head spins, defiance a mask he’s been waiting to wear for a while.  
“Yeah. You disrespectin’ mama by fuckin’ every whore that breathes is despicable. We embarrassing _you?_ You’re a fucking joke. Look at yourself all done up like you’re 20. Who do you think you are, old man?”  
  
That’s what Ron wants to say. Jesus he’s been holding his tongue his whole life and this summer he finally grew just as tall as his Daddy which means he’s gonna be taller come Christmas- but the man still has at least 40-50 pounds on him and the brute strength of a guy used to beating on his wife- and getting into bar fights.  
Ron looks like a broomstick left out in the rain in comparison.  
“No, sir,” he hates himself for being so weak. Hates it!!  
  
“Good,” Eugene twists harder, nostrils flaring. Ron hisses from pain.  
“Because if I thought you was givin’ me lip, boy, I’d have to teach you a lesson, and I don’t want to get my hands dirty before I meet my friend. You’re lucky I’m feelin’… _generous_ today.”  
  
Yeah. _Generous_. Go fuck yourself, Ron wants to scream. Go fuck yourself! Eugene wouldn’t know generous if it hit him in the face.  
Jesus, the number of times Ron’s imagined stealing into his parent’s bedroom in the middle of the night (on the rare occasions his father actually makes it home to pass out piss drunk), and just pouring fucking drain cleaner down his throat. Just ending all their pain and his mother’s abuse.  
His fists clench in his lap.   
“Don’t piss me off, Ronnie. Just cuz you’s as tall as me don’t make you a man. I’m one sarcastic reply from puttin’ the fear o’ God right back into ya.”  
  
Yeah, the fear you don’t know yourself? Ron swallows his reply, the rest of the ride to the tent spent blinking back hot tears and biting into his throbbing lower lip.  
  
When Eugene’s not looking, Tommy leans forward and caresses Ron’s forearm. Tully slants his head enough to give him a reassuring smile. It’s a weak one, but it’s real.  
Ron loves his brother more than himself. He’d do anything to protect him.  
  
“We’re here, dipshits. Now like I said,” he points at Thomas with an accusatory finger, “you so much think of breathin’ a word of this to your mother neither of you will see daylight for a week. Remember what happened last time. They’s room for two down in that cellar. We clear?”  
  
Ron despises his father, but blames himself even more for not being able to protect him and his mother from his wrath. He feels responsible for their safety – a common problem among the firstborn into families with domestic abuse.  
Ron’s too young to know it’s not his fault, nor his place, to be their savior. The burden he’s putting on himself, it’s already taken a toll.  
Nightmares.  
Digestive problems.  
PTSD.  
  
A few minutes after they park, and Eugene is just leaning against the hood like he’s fucking a poor man's Marlon Brando or something, Ron sees a redhead make a beeline for them.  
She’s probably in her late 20s, hair curled into auburn waves that come copper aflame when they hit the sunlight.  
  
Everything about her appearance screams preacher’s daughter- the collared shirt buttoned up to the hollow of her creamy neck- the sensible shoes.  
It all fits with the purity persona- except for the light of lust in her cornflower eyes.  
  
“Hello Eugene,” she breathes when she reaches them. Her tongue rolls into the fleshy part of her cheek, making it stick out from within. She rolls back and forth on her heels, her freckled skin scrunching over her nose.  
“Well hi there, darlin’,” he purrs.  
  
Oh God, can Ron puke right now?  
It looks like his father’s about to lean in for a kiss, but then Eugene checks himself. Remembers who she is and where they are. Ron may be 12 but he’s not dumb. He can tell from how they are around each other they’ve already fucked.  
  
“And who are these handsome young men?” she feigns shyness. Hand outreached, (the one not holding the Bible), she introduces herself.  
“I’m Diane.”  
  
“These’re my boys,” Eugene interjects with no enthusiasm. “Thomas and Ron. Ron’s only 12 but he’s already as big as me. _But he ain’t a man yet, though_.”  
"Much obliged, ma'am," Ron murmurs.   
  
Diane drops her weak handshake and flits her gaze to him. “Nobody’s like you, Eugene.”  
  
Jesus! Can they get on with it already so Ron and Tommy can go back home?! Nice dig at my masculinity, Ron reflects. That’s a real man- belittling his son to make himself look better.  
  
“Where’s your Daddy?” Eugene looks around, nervous eyes looking like he’ll eat her up as soon as they're alone.  
  
“Inside. They’re about to handle the snakes. You boys ever seen snake handlers?” she asks coyly.   
“No ma’am.”  
“They mama take ‘em to the Baptist church in Mobile. They don’t do any of that there,” Eugene explains.   
  
“Well why don’t you go inside and have a look? While your Daddy and I… _talk_.”  
“Yes ma’am,” Ron replies softly.  
  
“Go on, boys,” their father emphasizes with a tilt to the head. “I’m gonna take Diane here for a ride in the country so we can… talk about some church things. I’ll be back for ya in a couple hours.”  
  
“Okay Daddy,” Tommy inches into Ron’s shadow.  
“Yes sir,” Ron clucks.  
Drawing near, until he’s right in his face, Eugene grabs his chin with two fingers.  
“Take care of your brother, Ronnie. Don’t want nothin’ to happen to him. You’re in charge, Ronnie, ya hear?”  
  
 _You’re in charge, Ronnie_. That would end up haunting him for the rest of his life.  
_  
  
When it’s been 3 hours and service is done, the flock beginning to dribble out…  
Ron looks at the sun in the sky- it’s been hours. Shit. He knows what’s happened. Ain't the first time.   
Their Daddy got a motel room somewhere and forgot that he’s supposed to come back and pick up his sons. Not caring what the girl’s explanation will be for her absence to whoever her ‘Daddy’ is… he grabs Tommy by the hand. The tip of his tongue passes over his parched lips.  
  
Some worshippers look at them strangely, two boys alone under the blistering Mobile sun.  
“You boys need help?” a lady with a huge green hat asks as she passes by.  
“No ma’am,” Ron replies. “We’re just waiting on our Daddy, he’s gonna come pick us up soon.”  
  
No, he ain’t. But Tully can handle this. There’s no need to involve strangers. Strangers who will ask too many questions.  
“You sure we can’t give you boys a ride somewhere?”  
“No, thank you, ma’am. Though that is right kind of ya.”  
  
Ron decides for them both that they need to walk. Anything better than standing out on a fairground under a scorching sun. At least on the road there’s some shade, and they might come upon a farm. Farm’ll have water.  
“Ronnie, I’m thirsty,” Tommy shades his eyes from the sun with the back of his hand. His face is tomato red.  
“I know, Tommy. Just come along- we’ll find some water, okay?”  
Nodding his ebony head, Thomas intertwines his fingers with this brother. The dark stains on their backs have extended to most of the shirts’ flimsy cotton.  
  
The shade of the tree-lined road is little, but still welcome relief from the heat. They make it about two miles, the gait slow, when Tully spots a farm in the distance. There’s a bright red barn and a silo.  
There must be water there.  
  
Tommy is boiling to the touch now, babbling something about the snake handlers from earlier. Ron is so hot he’s not even sweating anymore.  
“Ronnie, you see that armadillo in the road?”  
  
Squinting to focus, Ron doesn’t see anything except for something gray by the ditch. It looks like it might be road kill.  
“Tommy there ain’t no armadillo there.”  
Breaking from his grip, Thomas runs forward, towards the mass on the hot gravel.  
“It’s right here, dontcha see it?”  
  
It’s too late by the time Tully recognizes it. Stuck in his tracks, mouth hanging open and the scream in his gullet lodged there like a paper weight, his delirious brother tries to pick up what is in reality a rattlesnake.  
  
 _You’re in charge, Ronnie_. That would end up haunting him for the rest of his life.  
  
Thomas gets bit. He’s a small kid, lanky. The Tully’s are poor- the Southern poor of Alabama times. The ones you’d later tell your kids about- that sometimes you didn’t eat for days unless you picked berries or shot a squirrel.  
  
Ron carries him to the farm, arms shaking from fatigue. They’re both so tired and dehydrated... malnourished and hungry- neither brother had eaten that day because fuck Eugene to be bothered to even heat his sons a can of soup. What little their mama could afford to make, their father and his friend Henry had eaten the night before while drinking.  
  
Thomas Tully didn’t die from the snake bite- it was the heatstroke that did him in before that. Limp in his brother’s arms, cheek against Ron's pointy clavicle... the Sullivan family found them like that. The old man had run out with his shotgun, under the impression someone was trying to rob them, maybe steal a chicken.  
Ron convulsing from the tears and heat exhaustion, skinny legs sprawled out in front of him, his brother’s lifeless body pressed to his chest.  
  
Ron’s brother died so his father could get laid.  
When the police brought Tully and his mother home the next day, Tully having been treated for heat exhaustion and the coroner releasing Tommy's body to the funeral home, hours later Eugene wandered in smelling of pussy and whiskey. It's like he didn't even give a shit Tommy had died. No, he beat Ron to the point of coma for “lettin’ his brother die” in his care after he'd been told to look out for him.   
His mother never recovered from the shock. After the funeral, she slowly faded into the background of her very own existence.   
Tully, in his own way, followed.   
_  
  
The most common snake in northern California -- and one often mistaken for a rattlesnake -- is the Pacific gopher snake. This snake is diurnal, meaning it hunts during the day and sleeps at night. When threatened, the snake will flatten its body and shake its tail. While it has no rattle, a rattling sound can be heard in dry grasses, leading observers to believe it to be a rattlesnake.  
The gopher snake is nonvenomous and not harmful to humans.  
  
Diego gets pulled away by a quick-acting Tig. Their screams shake the child more than the idea of maybe getting bit by a poisonous snake.  
It’s Ron that Venus is worried about when they’ve secured the boy.  
He’s just sitting there, eyes vacant- repeating “You’re in charge, Ronnie” on a loop. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for this chapter. I promise things will get better. 
> 
> Title from the book of the same name by David T. Greenberg  
> Info on the snake from Wiki.  
> The quote about not eating, poverty is from "Mindhunters." Season 1 if I do recall correctly.


	16. Ron Gets A Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tully is catatonic and the family struggle to bring him out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning for panic/grief attack symptoms*

A reaction to perceived danger can often be more of a scare than the extent of potential damage, imagined or not.  
It’s even more so when it’s a child that might be harmed; people overreact. Rightfully- it’s instinct. Parents _should_ be protective of their offspring- the good ones are, at least.  
People with a conscience are defensive of their fellow man at times, right? By the same sentiment, strangers save people from falling in front of oncoming subway trains or from violent harm.  
So extend that to a biological tie and you get mothers who lift cars to save their kids.  
  
When the gang spotted Diego with what they assumed, from its markings and colorings, to be a rattlesnake, it was a justifiable reaction to yell and wave and hurl themselves blindly forward.  
It was also a normal reaction that little Diego began crying from fright.   
Tig, in a self-sacrificing gesture, flung himself between the source of danger and his helpless nephew. It was chance that Tig was nearer and already on his feet- but Juice was close on his heels.  
Diego isn’t Tig’s, but he scooped him up as if he were. After all, Tig had two daughters and that paternal impulse never leaves you. (Sure, he might not have been the most present father during their upbringing, but after losing Dawn what had laid dormant just surfaced and deepened in the man).  
  
Tig’s hand splayed across the back of Diego’s head, his espresso locks sprouting from between his fingers. He clung onto his uncle’s neck while Juice disposed of the snake. Tig whispered to him, rubbing his heaving back, “Shh, it’s okay Diego. Nothing happened. You’re safe now.”  
  
It’s the same primal call that pushes Tig to call Fawn every week to make sure she’s okay. (She sounds annoyed and sometimes doesn’t answer on the first three rings, but Fawn secretly loves it).  
The Tragers visit for major holidays and Venus is as much a doting mother to Joey as she is a grandmother to her new grandchild.   
Family loyalty and love, when healthy and fostered correctly, is a beautiful thing. No matter what the tie- blood or chosen.  
  
Juice remembered that fact once Diego was safely ushered to the patio. Carla had done things like this for him all the time. He didn’t mean to be so mischievous, he was just a curious little boy. (That’s probably where Diego got it from).  
Once- he must have been 5? Candy was 11 and had been left alone yet again to babysit. She’d patted Juice on the head, called him “her little helper,” before the doorbell rang and she flitted off to see who it was. The arroz con gandules (rice with peas) their mother had left for dinner was reheating on the gas stove and Juicy, bless his heart, wanted to be “big” just like Carla. Contribute, just like his sister did.  
Pushing the chair to the cooker with a screeching scrape of metal over peeling linoleum, he clambered up onto the seat and grabbed the big spoon Carla had been using to stir.  
  
Candy was only gone a few moments- Mrs. Ortega from downstairs had come by to leave some sewing for their mother, but it was enough time for Juanito to accidentally snare the dishrag to the edge of the burner. By the time Carla walked back into the kitchen Juan was wide-eyed, face aglow with orange and staring at the growing flames, his trembling lips trying to call out for help.  
Candy didn’t think twice- she grabbed the fiery cloth with her bare hand, encircling Juanito’s tiny waist with her right arm so she could drop him to safety by the table.   
The burning scraps smoked in the sink. Her eyes teared up- the sear of the burn hit a second later and the cool water from the faucet only did so much to ease it. (She’d be walking around with a bandaged hand for a couple weeks before the burns healed, leaving her a permanent scar as a souvenir).  
It didn’t matter- saving Juice from harm was more important in that moment- he was younger and more vulnerable.  
That’s what sympathetic people do: they protect the weak.  
_  
  
Venus looks up at Tig, her brow creased in worry. Rubbing her hand into the center of Ron’s massive back, she draws her mouth tight.  
“I think he’s catatonic,” she murmurs.  
Juice and Tig both nod in agreement.  
  
Ron’s staring blankly past everyone in his line of vision… he’s barely blinking, a ball of worry and foreboding twisting itself into his bowels.  
Alarms are going off in Juice’s head.  
  
_The sun is on Tully’s face. The anguish has contorted it._  
_Tommy’s stopped breathing, is all he thinks about it. I can’t feel his heartbeat anymore._  
  
_Ron perceives the dead weight on his chest, literally, by the sharp angles to his brother’s bones digging into his torso…_  
_Ron’s hiccuping for air now… as if he’s become proxy breather for his brother, but it’s too late… it’s too damn late._  
_Shallow and raspy and so uneven Ron gulps in air when he can between sobs._  
_“Tommy,” his gummy eyelids flutter. He draws the limp limbs nearer, like holding a rag doll whose stuffing all collected in the hands and feet._  
_The world seems to have slowed down, or it’s the lack of oxygen that’s making everything so hazy?_  
  
_“You’re in charge, Ronnie,” Tully mumbles. “You’re in charge…”_  
_Christ, he’d breathe if he could get his ribs to expand more than an inch… but he’s so tired, so tired! Ron’s slumping against the barn, his chin trembling and shoulders quaking, and Tommy’s so heavy now …. So heavy…_  
_There’s a man and a woman and they’re screaming at him, but Ron doesn’t understand the words. It’s all so dreamy. Maybe this is a dream? Maybe he and Tommy fell asleep?_  
_Sleep… it sounds like such a wonderful idea. Ron can barely keep his eyes open now…_  
_… Tommy… we should sleep Tommy…_  
  
_The woman crosses herself, then tugs on her husband’s shirt with three fingers._  
_“Heavenly Father, Carl, the little one is dead! The little one is dead! What happened to these boys?!”_

_The man cocks his head, sweat pouring down the sides of his face as he yanks at Ron’s arms, which are held rock solid._  
_“Stop fussin’, Missy. For the love of God, call an ambulance! Call an ambulance!”_

_“Son, ya have to let him go, he’s gone, son… “ Carl Sullivan keeps repeating as he struggles to pry Ron’s fingers open._  
_“Son, let go of the boy, son… we need to get ya inside… ya need to get in the shade, son… “_  
_  
  
Juice kneels at Tully’s feet, hands clasped over his knuckles. His own eyes are wet and dull with worry.  
“This might be about his brother.” Juice fixes some hair from Ron’s face, Tully’s forehead clammy to the touch.  
“I know his brother died when he was 10, maybe it was a snake bite? Could the thing with Diego have triggered him?”  
  
Juice’s rocking on his heels in front of his husband, cupping his cheek gently. His gaze begs for assurance.  
“Oh sweet heavens,” Venus gasps. “The things we’ve been through in this family.”  
“What’s wrong with papa?” Diego sniffles, fidgeting in Tig’s embrace.  
  
Tig lifts his chin and swivels towards Venus. “Baby, can you take Diego in the house? Try to calm him down.”  
  
Juice tips his head, weighing the idea. He stands only for enough time to kiss Diego on the lips, give him a reassuring squeeze on the bicep.   
“Diego honey, papa will be okay. He just got scared for you. Will you show Aunt Venus all your books, please? Can you do that for Daddy? Be a brave boy right now.”  
  
Rubbing his knuckles into his eyes, Diego draws in a deep breath and then releases it. “Yes Daddy.”  
“Good boy.”  
Juice mouths thank you and Venus nods in gesture of no problem. Tig delivers Diego into her warm embrace and she disappears inside with weighed steps.  
  
When they're out of sight, Tig chimes in.  
“I remember when this happened once to Dawn.” He takes a seat next to Tully, his face searching for ideas on how to help.   
“You’ve gotta… you gotta bring them back slowly. Make them remember something so they latch onto that memory instead. What’s something Tully would remember about you two? So he breaks away from the childhood memory, if that’s what causing this.”  
  
Stroking Ron’s forearm, Juice runs a jerky hand through his love’s long hair. “Papì, you remember the day we got married? I wore the pearl gray suit and you your black one that brought out your eyes so beautifully? Papì, you remember? Sarah was our witness. Little Diego held our rings on a satin pillow and she had bought us both white boutonnieres? Papì? ... Papì?”  
  
_“Son, let go of the boy, son… we need to get ya inside… ya need to get in the shade, Papì… Papì… “_  
  
Ron swallows- mouth parting slightly.  
“Keep going,” Tig urges, licking his lips with cautious hope.  
  
A floating sensation flutters through Juice- he presses his palm into the back of Ron’s head and they touch foreheads. Juice shuts his eyes in prayer.   
“Come back to me papì… Remember? Do you Ronald Tully, take Juan Carlos Ortiz to be… “  
  
_“You’re in charge, Ronnie… You’re in- to be your lawfully wedded husband… “_  
  
Leaning forward, the crease of his eyes twitching, Ron blinks. The scene fades like the first seconds after waking from a nightmare.  
  
Muttering “I do,” Ron's focus returns to the room, pupils dilated to a powerful awareness of his surroundings.  
“I do,” he whispers as if getting married all over again.  
  
“Ron??” Juice struggles to speak, gaze fixed and shiny. His mouth has gone completely dry.   
Tears well up behind Tig and Juice's eyelids.   
Ron lets his head fall back as he studies their stricken faces.  
  
“Is... is Diego okay?” he moans. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the scare! All's well that ends well. xxoo
> 
> Book title from the kid's book "Croc Gets A Shock" by Mairi MacKinnon and Fred Blunt


	17. It Will Be Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last of the secrets come out. Or do they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't apologize enough for this taking so long... sometimes my head goes places and it's hard to refocus.  
> It's a short update, I know, but it's packed with punches. Now I'm back so more to come both here and in Storm's.

“It was nice of the Tragers to stay,” Ron murmurs. He pulls his shoulders back and lifts his granite jaw, catching himself glancing over his shoulder.  
Juice is holding him from behind… a tea spoon to his soup, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. After today, he’s grateful for the warmth his husband’s body makes surge through him. His arms so male, so bracing.  
Juice just nods against his damp hair, kissing the spot between his lobe and the apple of his cheek.  
“They’ve been wonderful.”  
Ron Tully hasn’t needed comfort in a long time, but today he’ll take it without complaint or too much guilt.  
“I’ll be sure to thank them with an appropriate gift when they get back home. Especially Venus. She was so good with Diego, reading to him and putting him to bed.”  
  
The dark circles under Ron’s eyes shade purple, even though in the darkness that has long gained upon the light, you can’t tell. A complementary crimson webs Juice’s instead. When no one was looking, which means Tully was in the shower and Tig engaged in washing dishes and Venus had Diego in her arms as she read from “It Will Be Okay,” (on the choice of title, he had no comment. On the religious sentiment within, well… even Mrs. Trager had rolled her eyes a few times).  
Anyway, while their domestic world buzzed with activity and distraction, each person finding a way to put the fearful events of the afternoon behind them, Juice let go as he knew best: a cry in the garage that tore uncontrollable sobs from within his soul and made him puke into an empty paint can.   
  
What happened to Ron… to Thomas… so senseless and yet so sickenly familiar in families so broken there was never any hope of redemption. It was so fucking sad.   
  
So yes, the Tully-Ortizes are eternally indebted to the kind and generous nature of their friends- allowing for Ron to have some time and space to himself.   
  
“What can I do?” Juice asks in feather kisses. “Tell me.”  
It would be ridiculous to think two hours in a poorly-lit room might fix this. That Juice merely catching his husband’s hand and encompassing his waist could somehow erase the trauma of watching his son come face to face with a serpent- the same situation triggering the memory of his brother’s untimely and utterly tragic death. But what else can he do?  
  
Juice’s head hangs low. Ron is turned on his side, squeezing Juice’s fingers, willing himself to a sleep far from coming.  
“Papì?”  
  
Juice swallows hard, literally choking on his desire to take Ron’s pain away. It’s burning in his throat - he wants nothing more than to embrace his spouse and through that somehow cauterize his agony.

Ron’s chest feels like it’s caving in on itself. It's the desolate feeling, that familiar feeling... what he knows as the dead weight in his soul, Tommy’s weight.  
Tully has always felt older than his years, and heavier than his form. He’s never stopped- he’s never stopped carrying the poundage of his dead brother on him- literally and figurately.  
  
It has accompanied him since that day. He wakes up with those 65 pounds on his chest and he falls asleep with them straining his arms.  
Muscle memory is a bitch like that, even when it’s been 30 years.  
  
Juice listens to his ragged breathing- wants to say something but then falters. This impotence is torture, but he knows Ron. He knows he’ll deal with it on his own terms, his own time.  
Two fingertips hesitantly find cool flesh against Tully’s massive chest, over his thrumming heart.  
  
He allows them to remain. It’s the first time he’s felt something other than anguish in hours.  
“Why do you love me?” Ron inquires in a raspy, broken voice.  
  
Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ! Juice screams in his mind, blinking back the tears. Will they ever catch a break from trying to outrun their demons?!

 _Because you’re my everything._ Juice swallows down the words he wants to utter that sound so hollow and dumb as they rattle in his mind’s cage.  
“You’re my life, Ron. You’re my heart. That’s why. If yours stops beating, so does mine, understand? And so does that little boy out there- he loves you with everything his little person can muster. You’re his Papa.”  
  
Juice adds the rest of his digits and an entire strong hand now gently warms the spot. Ron half turns, cheeks slick with fresh tears.  
“I have to tell you something.”  
The tone is different now. Ron bites into his chapped lower lip and gazes up at Juice with watery eyes- beseeching something.  
“Tell me you’ll love me no matter what,” Tully begs. “Tell me.”  
  
What the hell is he on about? Juice thinks. He kisses his briny tears, cupping his stubbly chin. “Of course I love you, papì. No matter what..”  
  
“I need you to love me because I have NO ONE,” Ron hiccups. His fixed, empty black stare expresses a thousand disappointments.

Christ Almighty, if a sear doesn’t tear Juice in two. A pinky traces the moist tracks along his nose.  
“What are you talking about, Ron?”  
Barely an inch between them, he rolls over, palms gliding around Juice’s ribs and up to his shoulder blades.  
  
“I have to tell you a couple of things, Juice.” He searches the man's gaze for permission.  
Juice stiffens, stricken by fear.  
  
What does he have to tell him now? No matter what it is, they’ll get through this. They’ve always survived everything… together.  
His comforting arms envelope Tully, taking possession of his now trembling body. He falls against him, _into him_ , going limp.  
Their foreheads touch.  
  
“Tell me, papì. No matter what I got you.”  
  
Before he does, Ron tilts his head up. Seeks Juice’s lips.  
Juice thinks he tastes like he must feel… salty with the burden of bereavement. Their cheeks hollow as it deepens, fingers curling into Ron’s wet, black hair.  
Tully pulls him in. Closer. Urgently.  
  
The confession is stalled as longing takes over. Juice breathes through his nose and Ron whimpers in need. Four hands roam, tugging on searing skin until they’re free of their bottoms.   
Everything after is a blur. Tongues lick, teeth clash. Mouths suck and skin bruises.  
Their eager hands explore like they did the first time they came together in that fetid prison cell in Stockton…  
  
Grazing, stroking, penetrating until both men are glistening with sweat and secretions, drunk on the promise of a pain-free tomorrow.  
Their muffled cries of pleasure fill the space they’ve carved for themselves under forced propriety.  
Then it’s over. Almost as quickly as Ron instigated it, he spends against Juice with a bite to his bicep that would require a stitch if he hadn’t controlled himself in time.  
  
Through the filter of grey night enveloping them, the sliver of faint hallway light creasing across their floor, Ron smiles like he’s only remembered now how to do it.  
Juice rubs his thumb under his eyes- not having forgotten what Ron said earlier.  
“Papì… tell me what you wanted to say. _Please._ ”  
  
“You promise you won’t leave me?” Ron shrinks in front of the revelation.  
Juice scoffs, grasping him tighter. “Nothing would ever make me stop loving you, papì.”  
  
Ron nods, almost in a gesture of not trusting his own voice. In a hushed breath of heartbreaking sincerity, he pitches his tone even lower.  
“No more secrets, Juice. There are a couple things I was bound by promises not to tell you, but I don’t want to keep those burdens on me anymore.”  
  
All air leaves him, his chest clenching.  
“What is it baby?”  
  
Swinging his gaze to look at his love longingly and sorrowfully, Ron speaks his truth.  
“There’s something I need to tell you about Chibs, Juice. And also… you’re not the only one committed a blissful error. When I was 24, I fathered a son. His name is Bryan Thomas.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the book of the same name by Lisa TerKeurst.


	18. When Sheep Cannot Sleep - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After this news, nobody's getting any sleep tonight.

You know there are moments when words hit you. You hear them, understand which ones they are because you speak the language… but their meaning doesn’t register.  
That’s how Juice is sitting. With that bewilderment and shock climbing up his body, tensing all his muscles.  
  
Propped up against the headboard, one bare arm sits on a diagonal cross over his chest. (If the situation weren’t so dramatic, this would be serious fodder for arm porn. That crease on his bicep falls just right and his tight stomach ripples as he breathes).  
Ron has a kid?! And what the hell did Chibs do?! Is that what that line Chibs wrote in his letter was all about?  
  
“Okay,” he nods to himself as Ron looks on. If it weren’t so dark he’d look even paler than before. Juice’s lack of response is more worrying than the outburst he was expecting.  
  
“Okay.”  
Repeating the word isn’t making it okay, though, and perhaps Juice’s heart is beating faster than even the thoughts racing in his head?  
He snaps it in Ron’s direction, that gaze- those large wet eyes, two headlights. Before all the things he wants to ask come spilling out, he wants to reassure Ron that it’ll be okay. Because if he’s kept this information from him for so long, even though they’ve been married for five years and are raising a son together- there must be a good reason.  
Ron Tully is known to be a man of his word and if he says a promise bound him to silence than that’s even more honor to his integrity. Juice has to respect that.  
  
Give him a chance to explain, he tells himself. Don’t freak out before having all the details.  
  
As soon as the reaching fingers touch the warmth of Ron’s hand, they give it a squeeze. Some of the tension in him dissipates at the contact.  
  
With a shoulder heaving breath, Juice wags his head once more. He’s ready.  
“Okay. Nobody’s getting any fucking sleep any time soon. I need to know everything, papì. I’m listening.”  
  
Ron’s stomach swells with momentary trepidation- he sucks on his bloodless lower lip before starting in.  
  
“What do you want to know first?”  
Juice scoffs. “Honestly, Ron, both little revelations have me kind of shitting my pants so you choose.”  
Dividing his murky stare between his hands and Juice, Ron tilts his head and finally unburdens himself.  
  
“I’ll start with Chibs. It’s a shorter story and I’m sure as soon as I tell you, all of what brought us here, to today, will become abundantly clear.”  
The papers stuffed into his underwear drawer are making a lot of sense.  
  
“When you got to Stockton, there was a hit on you. You know that.”  
He hates thinking back to that time- to how much Jax must have hated him and his brothers’ disdain was a bitter poison Juice drank down every single day.  
“I remember.” _How could I ever forget?_  
  
Tully runs a hand through his bangs, his dark eyes lacking any expression if not contrition.  
“I was tasked with killing you. Jax and the AB had a deal. And you know that as well. That day they put you in my cell you weren’t exactly shy about it.”  
  
A nervous smile breaks on his face. It’s weak, but the memory of that day isn’t entirely unpleasant once Ron had been kind to him.  
“You gave me shower gel and ramen. Said I looked thin.”  
“You did. You were a shaky little dove wondering when someone was going to stomp on your wings.”  
“And then you told me the hit was off.”  
  
Here goes. Ron shakes his head positively.  
“Before they assigned you a cell, Chibs came to see me. To make a long story short, he was the one who convinced Jax you were more useful to the club, inside doing favors for the AB, than dead on some slab. But you’d made enemies in there. The Chinese… “  
  
The slow motion of Juice’s head showed he was listening. It was difficult to go back to that time.  
And Chibs… Chibs did that for him?!  
“So it’s because of Chibs that you didn’t kill me?”  
Ron squinted, leaning in. “Sweetheart, if Chibs hadn’t done that, if he hadn’t specifically requested you become my cellmate… you wouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t be who we are, because I doubt I would have fallen in love with you if you were dead or in some other part of the prison with all the Latino gangs.”  
  
“Holy shit,” Juice blinks, breath shortening. “This is a lot, Ron. I mean… “  
Holding his face still with his two large hands, Ron directs Juice’s attention back to his eyes.  
 _  
_“Baby, there’s more. Chibs got your hit lifted. Chibs paid me protection money for you the entire time we were in Stockton. By the time I fell for you I reached out to him, told him I’d do it for free- but he insisted on keeping the payments coming, just to be sure I buttered up the right people. His exact words to me that day were _Keep him safe. No matter what the cost. He’ll do favors for you, whatever the MC and the AB decide on. But nobody touches a hair on the lad. Not a hair. Ye put him in a cell with ye if necessary. He’s not to be harmed in any way_.”  
Ron gives him a minute. He can tell he’s mouthing something, but nothing is coming out.  
  
A sense of recognition and awe flickers in his tear-reddened eyes. Juice doesn’t know what to say- all he feels is an overwhelming sense of drowning.  
Chibs had sacrificed their love- putting himself on the line with Jax and the club- to keep him and _safe.  
_ Him. Juice. A rat and a traitor and a liar.  
  
Looking up, he meets Ron’s eyes steadily, glancing up at him from under those impossibly long lashes.  
“Papì, basically you’re saying we wouldn’t be married if it weren’t for Chibs.”  
  
Cocking an eyebrow, Ron lets the air out through his nose. “Basically, yeah. The only reason I didn’t tell you, Juice, is because he swore me to secrecy. I didn’t want to keep this from you. I’m sorry.”  
  
Tully hates lying. An omission for him has always been a form of lying. One down.  
“Holy shit.”  
  
Moving himself to establish perspective, Juice lets his hands drop heavily in his lap.  
“I was going to wait until I could ask you about it, but now it all makes sense.”  
  
Ron’s brow meets his hairline and he inches forward. “What makes sense?”  
“Tig brought me a letter from Chibs. Inside are financial details. He set up a college fund for Diego and took a huge chunk out of our mortgage, Ron. I think he feels guilty for all the club shit. Who does that?”  
  
 _Someone still in love with you._ Ron doesn’t say it, but he knows it to be true. This doesn’t surprise him one bit. Chibs has a soft spot for Juice, and even after all these years probably just wants to see him as happy as he can be.  
“That sounds very generous of him. I’m not sure how I feel about that, Juice. But this is your call to make. If you feel owed somehow- if this feels right to you… we’ll keep the money.”  
  
It’s a hard call for Juice to make. Not one he’s going to decide on in the next few hours. Knowing his son’s education is taken care of, and that in a year the farm would be theirs… it’s a huge temptation. He had a lot of money tied up in the club business, which he never got. Maybe this is Chibs’ way of paying it forward? Maybe Chibs told Bobby to keep his chunk aside and then used the money for good?  
  
“I can’t really digest all this right now, Ron.” He pats him on the thigh. “Tomorrow. Now I want to hear about your son.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing part 2 right now! Hopefully will be up this afternoon. 
> 
> Title from the children's book by Satoshi Kitamura.


	19. When Sheep Cannot Sleep - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The almost immaculate conception of Bryan Thomas Tully.

What do you do when the steady progression of what survival means includes marking your skin with symbols that disgust you? Knowing they don’t belong, in the least bit, to what you’re about or stand for as a human, but they become integral to a larger mosaic all set out to _save your life_?  
  
Ron Tully was white- sure. But he was also a redneck who read too many books for his own good… and a guy who craved cock.  
And not just any cock: he preferred darker meat.  
Of course he’d never put it that way, he was a gentleman. But he knew that some of the Puerto Rican and Mexican inmates in gen pop caught his eye way more than any of his AB brothers ever would. (Not that they would. He wasn’t into ignorant pieces of shit - though he couldn’t say the same for them. Those dicks would sooner die than admit some of them were checking him out in the showers with more than appreciative gazes).  
  
About 4 years in he started earning well. Doing extra work that no one else was willing to pick up- and which carried a heftier load of prestige and compensation in the Brotherhood.  
He found himself a lover, too. A man had needs, right? And until Officer “I can be bought” was willing to procure him empty rooms in exchange for wads of cash, he and Angel had themselves a lot of fun.  
Ron had learned to change disposition as soon as the doors shut behind him. From aggressive to kind. From terrifying to gracious.  
He never would lose those famous Southern manners of his.  
  
Angel appreciated the small trinkets Ron got him and didn’t mind getting fucked by a handsome and fit white boy. The fact he was peppered with Nazi ink was a huge turn-on. A nice “fuck you” to the racist movement in general. Win-win.  
That was the first time he was called papì by someone- and fuck did it quickly become a kink.  
Angel would swirl his wide pink tongue around on Tully’s fat cock, suck on the head while Ron played with his chocolate tendrils, calling him pet names like sweetheart and baby.  
  
“You like that, papì?” he’d say from under hooded eyes.  
“Am I making you hot, papì?” he’d tease, gleaming white teeth sucking in his lower lip as he’d lower himself down onto Ron’s sheathed cock.  
“I’m coming, papì,” he’d scream as he writhed under Ron. “You’re fucking me so good papì so good!”  
So was there any wonder, when a certain Juice Ortiz was escorted to his cell in D block that fateful afternoon many years later… that he’d fall for him? Did Ron Tully ever stand a chance at not reeling in his baby’s presence?!  
  
Tully had been a dutiful student, no doubt. Papa Smurf’s perfect protege.  
When Dean got out it was Tully who, on his 6th and last year of his sentence, took out two of the mid-level shot callers in his same organization because the head honcho in Arizona didn’t like that they were “wavering on the ethics.”  
That’s how, at 24, he got to be tenth in line for the crown. It didn’t make him popular, but at that point Ron Tully could have given two shits about where he stood on the prom roster.  
  
He had Angel. He had people scared of him- which was more important than people looking up to him. And for the first time in a long time, he had dreams.  
It would only be 3 months and then he’d get out.  
Not just out of prison- out of the AB. He’d run as far away as possible from all this shit and just buy that farm he’d always dreamed of. Maybe even get a horse and some dogs.  
  
Or so he thought. But that’s not what happened. Life kind of has a way of kicking you in the nads when you’re already down.  
  
The very same etchings for which he’d been revered and obeyed on the inside became a badge of shame on the outside.  
He was judged. Couldn’t get a “real job.” And so Tully had no choice but to get sucked right back into the crowd- the lifestyle- THE BRAND that he abhorred so much.  
  
That’s when he met Sterling Piper, a preacher’s daughter looking for rebellion in all the wrong places and with all the wrong men.  
It was ironic – how her Bible- beating father was one of the biggest supporters of the KKK. Or not at all. She came from Georgia, after all.  
  
Ron Tully had caught her attention. He’d piqued her interest. And since it just so happened she was deeply tied to the movement, she was also the AB’s little princess.  
  
Ron was ordered by the head of the brotherhood to comply. Keep her happy. Dote on her.  
His own “brothers” were pimping him out for politics.  
  
The only time in his life he ever took drugs was to get it up so he could pass for straight. Fucking Sterling was mostly a blur in his mind’s memory. A blaze of booze and stimulants.   
She pretended she loved it as much as he did. Convinced herself he was just "shy."   
  
Jesus Christ. Most days back then Ron didn’t recognize the person looking back at him in the mirror.  
He was thicker by then, had grown another 3 inches in height and girth, and had lost all respect for himself.  
  
A year in to working for a top-level AB asshole on the outside named Schiller- a guy who owned a trucking company and muled meth into Stockton- Sterling came knocking on his door, waving a pink wand and a grin from here to Kansas.  
  
“I’m pregnant, Ron!” She was beaming. Her green eyes sparkled- a blond ponytail bouncing against her nape as she jumped up and down.  
Ron felt sick to his stomach. And how the fuck had this happened?! He avoided sex with her like the plague- and the times they did do it he always used a condom. No way he'd ever bareback her.  
Had she planned this? Had she been pricking holes in the wrappers on some orders from the ancients in the KKK to birth a redneck AB spawn?!  
  
He never got confirmation of it, but that’s exactly what had happened. The Grand Dragon wanted a closer tie to their brothers in California- needed a safe pipeline to run crystal and heroin from Georgia and ‘Bama to the coast and back. The prisons were full and the fiending was massive. There was tons of money to be made.  
The KKK was the silent appendage running the drug trade in the South. Most of them were dumber than a box of hair and missing their useful teeth- but the ones at the helm were far from stupid. They had Masters degrees and drove BMWs.  
Sterling was their pet project and Jesus was she more than willing to sleep her way to the top. She could almost see herself at the throne- the Queen of the KKK and the AB. Mother hen to all the racists from sea to shining sea.  
Wasn’t that everyone’s fucking American dream?  
  
Ron feigned happiness until she left his house that afternoon. His heart was torn from his chest at the news. It’s not that he didn’t want children, he just never anticipated any in his future given his… penchant for the penis.  
So yeah, wasn’t this a goddamn slap in the face by the universe. And not even a dick slap like he would have preferred. The one occasion he ever might have to be a father and it was going to be with one of the most vile human beings on the planet.  
Checkmate. You win, universe.  
  
Tully decided then and there he couldn’t do it. Not the part about raising a child- he couldn’t do _this_ with _her.  
_ Within the first trimester of her pregnancy, Tully got himself locked up again. He knew the ins and outs of Stockton. He was becoming a fucking GOD there.  
None of what was about to transpire in his life on the outside made any sense. Those waters seemed completely off any map he’d even care to chart.  
  
Sterling happily moved on to number 9 on the AB queue. Bryan Thomas was born on Feb. 18th not long after Ron’s 25th birthday.  
He got two pictures in the mail of a beautiful boy with black hair and green eyes. Attached with it, a state request for montly child support.   
Ron never heard from Sterling - or Bryan- ever again.  
  
  
_

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this, finally a story with a bit of joy and happiness!  
> Title from and an excerpt from "Alice in Wonderland."  
> All the titles of the chapters are from or related to children's works.  
> It's going to be a running theme in this series (series, or chaptered story... you know what I mean).


End file.
